Disclaimer: I do not own Hellsing or any of its characters, etc.

Chapter 3: Accusations of Remembrance

'Punch. Dodge left. Left. Punch, kick, and twist. Dodge right, left.' Each swing deftly connecting with a loud smack and aggressive hiss of the leather bag, the jolted clangour of the chain support swaying under tension.

Walter stood outside the gym, the door ajar, watching Miss Victoria, currently lost in her own feral reality. He winced at each ferocious cry before she once again lunged herself into the offensive, sending a flurry of energetic fists pummelling into the straining punch bag. 'I suppose this relates to the earlier report to Sir Hellsing.' Softly shaking his head he vaguely recalled their brief conversation when he had returned to deliver a report to Integra on Lt. Walker.

Upon entering the office, after knocking and receiving no answer, Walter was at once grabbed by the pitch-dark shadow of the room, it took a while for his eyes to adjust to the slow leak of moonlight that filtered through the large paned window. The steady trickle of blue, subtle lick of spectral silver, bled across the inky carpet pooling at his feet, a stark silhouette carved into the portrait-perfect nightscape.

The only sound, aside from the whispered breaths of Integra was the gentle harmony, hum and buzz of the crickets, the soft elegance of wind caressing each silver leaf and blackened bough, and the solitary flirt and flutter of a nearby predatory bat.

As Integra narrowed her eyes, a delicate incline of her head to him, he was at once bathed in the slight anxiety and silent fury she radiated, the chilled embodiment of contemplation and exasperation. He knew at once there must be good reason for her vexation, but he knew her well enough that she would be loath to admit to any emotion or lack of confidence, much less reveal she did indeed require assistance with a problem or had no idea how to handle it.

From serving Integra since her ascension to the head of the Hellsing household Walter was well versed in her methods of operation. As the first woman to take over the duties of leading Hellsing she held a somewhat masculine air, an attempt to conceal any weaknesses outsiders, especially, the all-male members of the round-table, might have chauvinistically perceived all females to possess. 'The knights are judicious enough of her actions as it is, without her providing reason for it'; always a proverbial thorn in the side where secrecy, outside interference and her loyal trump card were concerned, which no doubt, Walter knew, was the largest cause of her stress.

Being an old-world, genteel character he was used to social hierarchies, conformation, unsaid rules and ethics of society and a certain degree of maintaining reputation through appearance in the correct circles. But the modern idea's of today's government he found occasionally baffling, the Royal National Knights were no exception; the levels of red tape Integra had to sift through daily, due to their input, only served to make him dizzy. 'Surely', he thought, 'such strict conformity to redundant rules and regulations only impedes or indeed prevents action and quick decision. What happened to the good old days when one shot first and thought later?'

Whilst admiring the daunting litter of paperwork strewn across the oak surface he caught a glimpse of an all too familiar face peering innocently back. Taking an instinctive and unconscious step forward, he jerked at the abrupt sound of a throat clearing, effectively shearing the vines of still tranquillity that entangled the ethereal midnight luminosity.

"Sir Hellsing?" She remained unmoving as if she hadn't heard him, but he knew better, she always heard everything, if she didn't acknowledge a statement it was because she didn't want to waste time discussing it or she believed it obsolete information. He looked quizzically at her, waiting for a response; but still he received none.

It was then her behaviour dawned on him, the sudden realization resulting in a mental clout to the brow. She was waiting on him! How queer he must have seemed waltzing into her office uninvited and blankly staring at her desk without first providing reason for his appearance! "Oh, pardon me, Sir Integra, I brought the file and doctor's report you requested on Lt. Walker." A somewhat apologetic smile of mortification had found its place upon his lips, blushing his age-speckled, creased cheeks a quiet scarlet.

Turning rigidly, arm outstretched, without looking up, she pulled the file into a splayed hand, leafing through the contents with a rapid flit of sapphire eyes, tender raise of an eyebrow and the mellifluous flutter of pages. Once again his eyes dropped to the naïve observer with her fiery crimson gaze.

"Walter don't forget that Miss Victoria will be assisting you tomorrow, and I want to see each and every file for the new recruits before they are enlisted. Try to avoid the general atheist riff-raff we usually receive applications from, I want someone who will devotedly fight for their country and their queen, even if it means their lives are forfeit. We have higher standards than any other agency could even hope to achieve and the criteria will be upheld. I expect nothing less than the best, I trust you will not disappoint."

His gaze left the young vampires face and momentarily flickered across the photos of the fallen soldiers from last night's operation. It was on these occasions he was thankful for his retirement from active field duty within the Hellsing organisation. Yes, there were times when he did feel regret and yearned to once again join the fight, but memories of dying comrades and the gruesome and torturous scenes he had witnessed in all his years of service instantly sobered him of his adventurous, daring spirit. He closed his eyes in a moment of reverence; he now knew why Integra was in such a state of deliberation.

"You don't think she…" He couldn't even bring himself to utter such words, he met her weary stare; she understood.

"I don't know Walter." The slight concern that laced her voice worried him the most, just what would she do?

"But she's never even-"

"I know Walter, I know, but I must look at every possibility and I must admit the evidence against her is building. Only Lt. Walker knows the full truth and until he awakens…"

"But Sir Hellsing-" This time he stopped himself, he had overstepped the boundaries, he was sure, the sudden scowl that appeared in only her eyes confirmed this.

"That will be all Walter." He winced slightly at her tone and bowing slightly in apology he left. He gently replaced the door on the latch before wandering, in a reflective daze, down the halls once again.

It was seldom he made any sort of disagreement with Integra, he truly respected her position, but he had felt a strange overwhelming sense of obligation to defend the girl; he had a strong connection with her too, she was like a daughter he knew he was now too old to have. He had missed that opportunity a long time ago; but he had not sacrificed such a life for his queen and country only, he also knew it was partially his own selfish desires, romantic notions of war and patriotism that had set him on his path in youth, so he would not regret those choices now nor would he complain of short-comings.

He had only known her for the past year, but he had found her truly endearing, she was a welcome breath of fresh air in the household. However, it was not only his relationship with Seras that had caused his outright objection or horrified expression at such an accusation towards her. It was the innocent cheer and youthful energy she held about everything around her and the fact that she was quite possibly the most humane and compassionate individual in the house.

Although she was now a vampire Seras desperately clung to normalcy, she drank only enough blood so as to not starve and even then it was only ever the donated kind, she contained none of the emotional detachment, chaotic lunacy or perverse enthralment with butchery that certain other members of the household maintained. She would lay her life on the line for anyone she encountered, for he knew that she somewhat despised her new situation and placed all life above her own; perhaps she felt such a selfish sacrifice would earn her the grace of god in death; he could only speculate.

Last night had no doubt been a failure, only something catastrophic could incur such a massacre; two squads in their entirety had been slaughtered, with the exception of Lt. Walker, who himself was only several grasps away from death's fiery door. But whatever had occurred was in no way, could not possibly be, what Integra was suggesting. There was just no way and he would obstinately refuse to believe such of Seras unless he witnessed it with his own eyes.

The scrunch of knuckles tempestuously seared towards the half-battered, tattered remains of the punch bag; but before the expected thump and hissed pressure of the punch an abrupt swerve of the hips flashed her gaze to the doorway, the fist still clenched in unexpressed fury at its outstretched pinnacle; dead even with a sparked, acute gaze of sacrilegious, bludgeoned red.

Springing from a lunged position of bent knee and out-thrust hind leg, both fists instinctually crippled into a gather, fuelled by pent tension and uncertainty, aimed in threat at the now ajar mahogany double-doors. Someone had been there; she edged offensively closer. She was sure; she had felt the smothering sensation of eyes crawling over her, that unpleasant tingle that plucked her skin into gooseflesh with an eerie caress of chilled breath.

Throwing her figure through the doors in a swift surge of courage and chaos of fear, she grasped breath within her lifeless lungs half tempted to close her eyes. The tumultuous grip of gurgling fear dissipated with a shushed relief of breath; the halls were empty. The soft seep of blue was now tainted with ochre hues the shadows hiding, withdrawing, exposing sheer reflections of untainted white in the harsh parquet.

She was sure she had not imagined it, someone had been there; she could almost taste the lingering, drifting, dripping mist of scent of heated blood that clung in the dawn air, its sweet moisture tantalizing against her skin in refreshing coolness. She supposed she should get some rest for later; she was not normally awake during daylight hours and, without doubt, tomorrows tasks would prove a challenge. Softly, somewhat languidly she made towards her chambers in the cellars.

Seras knew she should have been asleep already but her body had resisted at the chaotic state of her thoughts, the hazy images that fogged her mind. 'I still see their faces.' Perhaps her sudden unease in the gym was not, intuition or instinct as she had perceived but a creeping outcrop of lethargy revealed in the form of paranoia.

Running her fingers through her cold hair she sighed. She had gone to the gym in an attempt to arrange her thoughts of yesterday's mission; releasing her emotions in the form of anger towards the punch-bag usually allowed her to sift through her thoughts detachedly, avoiding an unprofessional break-down later. But this time, this time she still could not clearly remember the events of last night, in fact, each memory was becoming cloudier, washed over and dissolved within her mind.

Oh, she could still see their faces; those images were burned into her soul, and those she would not forget. However, everything else had become like a dream, a dream remembered so vividly when one awakens but one that quickly disperses at any further attempt to recall it. As she almost floated in her daze through the barren cellar corridors she closed her eyes in an attempt to replace the facts in her mind.

'I remember sending half the troops through the back door, and accompanying the second half through the main door.' Yes, that was clear enough, the grounds outside, though overgrown with twisted gnarls of root and branch and seeping with the tangles of weeds, had been empty, devoid of all but the heated puffs of breath from her soldiers that filtered through the delicate fog.

'After that, I see the doors, those huge imposing doors of finest wood, arching even beyond the area exposed by the fog, slowly open and then as I push through, only the whiteness, the blinding searing light that could only be compared to a glow of the heavens.' But trying to remember further only brought aggravation at the grim sight of gutted, gouged and gored bodies of her fallen men.

A sudden flash of her hands upon the twisted, ruptured neck of one of the men ripped her eyelids open, wrenching a gasp from her insides; she looked down at her hands. Blood, deep scarlet rushing, seeping, running tendrils crawling down her arms; she ran to her bathroom scrubbing at the blood mercilessly in the sink, but the constant stream of murderous rose would not come off. She began to panic, seizing unneeded gasps into her body in over-gulped stutters until a smouldering throb battered her mind in frenzy.

Several moments passed and she felt strangely serene, detached and somewhat euphoric as she slipped into her coffin. What had happened? Strangely, she didn't care. She couldn't recall the cause for her sore head or the blaze of pain that came from reddened friction-burns upon her hands, and something told her she didn't want to delve deep enough to find out.