"My little June, you do not believe; you imagine hatred and cruelty where there is only fate. You punish yourself, you punish yourself for also having loved your father. You punish yourself by destroying the love you most wanted."
-'Incest' by Anaïs Nin
The new carer was a good-looking man, and first impressions said that he was reasonably intelligent too. Unfortunately, there was something about the way he immediately started acting as though Walter was simultaneously a long-time hero and a brand-new best friend that made Walter want to feed him to Alucard. One small piece at a time, preferably.
He'd made an effort to be polite; he'd gone to meet the taxi as it pulled up at the servant's entrance. He'd smiled nicely at Pickman- tall, fit, and handsome in a toothpaste commercial kind of way- had shaken hands and greeted this young puppy who came bounding out of the back seat, grinning inanely and babbling about how much of an honour it was to be here at the Hellsing Organisation, to be able to serve in any manner possible. The puppy's training? Why, he'd been a proud member of Her Majesty's army before an unfortunate accident had rendered him unfit. But since he'd been a trained nurse before he'd joined, and he had already proven himself trustworthy, he'd been assigned to take care of a doddering old general- such a marvellous man, don't y'know?- who, in his dementia, had taken to babbling sensitive military secrets to all and sundry who wandered past. After this Pickman's discretion and his skill had become well known, and he had had a succession of patients from just about all branches of the British military, quite a few of which, strictly speaking, didn't exist to the public.
"Walter Dornez! I've heard so much about you!" the pup's face was stretched into an impossibly wide grin, showing teeth far too white and straight to be entirely natural. He lunged forward and sized Walter's hand in a textbook firm handshake and shook it vigorously. "Oh! You're wearing rings. One on each finger? Do they have some sort of sentimental value?"
"You might say that." Walter extracted his hand- he loathed being touched by anyone except Integra- and gestured the way, the younger man's luggage having already been whisked off to his new quarters.
"It's an honour and a pleasure to meet you, sir."
"I'm sure the pleasure's mine."
"Not at all, not at all. You're a World War Two veteran, right? Special Forces?"
"Indeed."
"An honour, sir, an honour to meet you. I've always admired our nation's heroes-"
Walter stumbled slightly, stepping on the puppy's foot. Purely by accident, of course.
"Oh, dear, how clumsy of me! I suppose I'm not as spry as I used to be! Have I injured you?"
"Not at all," said Pickman, hopping on one foot. "Just let me get my balance back."
"I'mvery sorry."
"Please don't worry about it," he said tightly. He scowled at Walter, who blinked at him innocently. "Well, where is the, ah, patient?"
"Just along here."
They came to Integra's suite. Walter opened the door and jumped back just in time to avoid the nurse as she came screaming out, complete with suitcases and an umbrella.
"This place is haunted by the devil! The devil, I tell you!" she howled, bolting up the corridor. "Tell the bastard I quit!"
"Oh dear," murmured Walter again. "I'm afraid that that doesn't make a good impression at all." He gestured politely. "After you," he said. Pickman gave him a doubtful expression and stepped inside.
Integra was sitting on the lounge, arms folded and pouting. "Warlter!" she said crossly. "Naughty!"
"Yes, yes," he soothed. "Nurse was very naughty to run off like that, wasn't it?"
"Nurse?" she shook her head. "Not nurse. Naughty! Bad dog!"
Walter bit his tongue to stop a smirk. Pickman took one look around the suite- comfortable lounges arranged in a semi circle, kitchenette, dining table and chairs, doors leading off to the bathroom and bedrooms for Integra and her minders, brightly coloured, durable toys scattered all around- and settled on Integra herself.
"And here's the lady!" he exclaimed, every inch of his body suffused and glowing with delight. "I'm Chris," he told her, and she nodded seriously. "May I sit next to you?" She shot a look at Walter that said, can he? Walter replied with a resigned shrug and Integra scooted to one side, leaving room for Pickman. "I've heard a lot about you," he said. "Did you know that your cousin has asked me to help Walter look after you?"
Integra smirked. "Can't get good help these days," she drawled in a perfect imitation of Walter.
Walter coughed. Pickman shot him the evil eye; the butler merely wiped his mouth with his handkerchief, the very picture of innocence.
"I'm here to be your friend as well, Integra. Would you like that, being friends? You have such pretty hair. I would like being friends with some who has pretty hair like that."
The puppy was not only smarmy; he was blind as well, decided Walter. Her hair had grown out since it was last shaved, but it was only a couple of inches long all over, a soft, disordered mess. Without the weight and length to subdue it, the cowlick in the centre of her forehead stood up violently, as did the white hair coming up from her suture scars. The whole effect was reminiscent of someone who had sat outside in a cyclone. It didn't make matters any better that she had developed a not-unreasonable phobia about people touching her scalp and would bite, kick, scratch or failing that, run like shit whenever anyone came near her with brush and comb. As Pickman discovered when he tried to tuck a stray lock back behind her ear.
Thump!– and Chris I-want-to-be-your-friend Pickman was sitting on the ground, clutching his bleeding nose as Integra flounced off in a huff.
Walter grabbed his arm, dragged him up to his feet and took him to the bathroom.
"Wha dib I do wonb?" asked Pickman plaintively as Walter, none too gently, scrubbed the blood off his face. Walter didn't answer.
"It's not broken," he said instead, curtly. "I suggest you ask permission before you touch her again," and he pinched the younger man's nostrils shut tighter than was strictly necessary.
"I'll remember dab," said Pickman, as Walter grabbed a clean handtowel, folded it neatly into a wad and handed it to him. He held it to his nose, trying to stop the bleeding. He smiled weakly as Walter glared at him. "So whab's da secret?"
"I'm sorry?"
"How dob youb convince her tob let youb brush her hair?"
Walter was quiet for a moment before he said grudgingly, "a cup of chocolate in the morning. A bowl of ice cream at night."
"Food. Ribe!" Without another word, Pickman marched out, still holding the towel to his face. Walter stared after him, bemused.
Pickman returned not a quarter of an hour later. He sported a bruised nose and a magnificent black eye, and a plastic shopping bag in one hand. Integra, curled up next to Walter on the lounge, watched suspiciously as he went straight into the kitchenette and started taking various brightly coloured packages from his bag and putting them in the freezer. He left two out and, without looking at either Walter or Integra, went to sit at the table. They watched him unwrap one of his little packets. An ice cream. Integra went, very, very still, watching Pickman intently. He took a bite, and chewed slowly. He swallowed, and sighed contentedly.
"Mmm," he said, "chocolate."
Integra mewed. Pickman looked up. "Oh, do you like ice cream?" She nodded vigorously. "Would you like one?"
And that was that.
Walter shook his head. "Young people today," he said under his breath as Integra got stuck in, smearing sticky goo all over her face. "No self-discipline, no moral fibre…"
"Oh, don't be such an old stick in the mud," said Alucard, breathing into his ear.
He rubbed his good eye tiredly.
"Are you all right?" asked Pickman solicitously.
"Yes," said Walter with a thin smile, "I'm fine. I have to go. I have an appointment."
"Yes, of course. Well, there's no need to worry. What time does Integra eat?"
"Now!" yelled Integra.
"Twelve," said Walter.
"Righto, I'll whip something up for her then."
"I'll be back in time for her bath."
"I can-" started Pickman, and stopped when he saw Walter's face.
"Food!" said Integra.
"I'll be back soon."
Integra leapt up and threw her arms around him. He held her very briefly, and said goodbye.
"Lay back, please."
The paper gown was uncomfortable, chilly and revealing.
"Arms by your sides and legs straight. This won't take a minute."
He was beginning to have a great deal of sympathy for Integra, going through this every fortnight. No wonder she always made such a fuss about it.
"I'm starting the scan now, Mr Dornez."
The table he was on whirred and clicked and slid into the machine. The little curved tunnel was sized and shaped in such a way that anyone wanting to get out on their own should have to squirm along on their shoulder blades, buttocks and heels, a process that would require time, patience and a certain tolerance for closed in spaces. Walter had an excellent head for heights but unfortunately that was countered by the slightest touch of claustrophobia. He was far too disciplined to panic, but even so he couldn't quite suppress the faint shudder running down his spine. The machine hummed and various lights brightened or darkened behind the opaque panels directly above his nose. Walter sighed and closed his eyes, tried not to notice the absence of his rings and waited for the doctor to speak.
"Mr Dornez, I have good news and bad news.
"The first is that you are in excellent shape. You would have to be one of the fittest people I have ever seen in the course of my career, regardless of your age or theirs. Your average twenty-year-old couldn't keep up with you. Your vascular system is excellent and your heart is extremely healthy. Your lungs are good although they could be slightly better when compared to the rest of your body. Didn't you say that you used to be a smoker? You gave it up at just the right time, I should think.
"There is a touch of arthritis in your knees and hands, specifically the joints of your fingers, but at this stage it is really not even worth the effort of medicating. Overall it is uncanny just how fit and healthy you are. Physically you seem to be a much younger man than you really are.
"But there is one thing.
"Mr Dornez, have you noticed any numbness or weakness down one side of your body? Dizziness or loss of balance? Confusion? Trouble talking or understanding speech? Headaches, nausea, trouble walking? Problems with your sight, even allowing for the stigmatism?
"The scans of your brain indicate that you have recently had a haemorrhagic stroke, that is, a rupture of a blood vessel, causing bleeding into your brain tissue. This rupture is only minor, but even allowing for your level of fitness it's very unlikely that you will completely recover from it. What islikely is that there are going to be some more small ruptures, more small bleeds, each adding too and compounding the damage that its predecessor left. Eventually it will lead up to a major stroke, one that, at best, will result in major paralysis and dementia, or at worst simply kill you. Even now with very minor damage you are already feeling its effects. The faintly discernible shaking in your hands. The way your left foot doesn't quite arch properly.
"Mr Dornez, I'm very sorry. But at your age, something like this is to be expected.
"People don't live forever."
Several weeks after the diagnosis, one of the grey suits paid a visit. "Walter? Sir Hellsing wants to see you."
Walter looked up from his seat on the floor. The grey suit was in the doorway, staring at him and Integra and the thing in between them with an expression very like horror.
"Haven't you ever seen a paper castle before?" Walter asked mildly.
"Castle," agreed Integra seriously, dabbing glue on a piece of tissue and sticking it to the hulking monstrosity in front of her. Grey suit cleared his throat.
"Not like this, no," he said. "Ah, Walter? You have some, um, glitter on your nose."
"Thank you," said Walter pleasantly. He wiped his face with his handkerchief. "Did that get it?"
"Uhm. No. Not really."
Walter got up and walked over to where a priceless antique mirror hung on the wall.
"Oh dear. I can't see Sir Hellsing like this."
"What happened?" asked Grey Suit.
"A craft lesson."
"Walter? Is it true that you once wiped out one hundred ghouls in five minutes?"
"Four minutes forty seconds, actually. Is anything the matter?"
"Glitter, sir," said Grey suit mournfully. "That's the matter. Glitter. It doesn't seem quite right, that's all. And so much of it, too."
Walter smiled. "I rather think it's becoming, don't you? The blue seems to bring out my eyes…"
"They called you The Angel of Death. Oh God. Glitter."
"It does seem to have gotten everywhere, hasn't it?
"I'll tell Sir Hellsing that you will be delayed, shall I? While you take a shower. Please?"
One hasty shower later, Walter came face-to-face with his nemesis. "Sir Hellsing? Are you well? You look rather haggard."
Sir Hellsing snarled. "Rats!" he spat.
Walter blinked. "I beg your pardon, sir?"
"Rats! Bloody vermin! Hundreds of the diseased little buggers, all swarming through my rooms last night! When I turned on all the lights they disappeared, and then ten minutes later I heard them in the attic! All night rats, rats, ratscrashing about on my ceiling." He kicked at his armchair in disgust. "Rats! With their revolting little tails and twitching noses and…and…is that glitter on your nose?"
"Yes sir."
"Fine. Rats!" he roared. "Filthy vermin, I hate them! They're dirty and germ-carrying and…what do you mean, 'yes'?"
"Yes sir, this is glitter on my nose. I had a shower, but some of it refused to wash off."
"Glitter." With that the ire seemed to run out of Sir Hellsing and he dropped down into his armchair with a plop. "Why are you wearing glitter, Walter? Something you want to tell me?"
"Well, Integra and I were having a craft lesson today and-"
"So that's it. Never mind. Sit."
Walter sat.
"Now. Could you please tell me when was the last time this place was inspected by a vermin catcher? The last records we have are in the vicinity of nineteen hundred and ten."
"Ah…I believe that nineteen hundred and ten wasthe last time the mansion had a pest inspector of any sort through."
"Why?"
"Alucard is, as you know, the master of low creatures like rodents and insects. He seems to have a knack of keeping them away, even when he is locked away and his power contained."
"So why have we been invaded all of a sudden? And why specifically my bedro-" He stopped. "Alucard?"
"Alucard."
"Hesummoned them. He summoned the filthy, wretched vermin!"
"I'd say it's a safe bet, sir."
"Right." Sir Hellsing scowled.
"Would you like me to have a word with him?"
"That will not be necessary," said Sir Hellsing coldly. "I'll do it."
Walter prepared to stand. "Is that all, sir?"
"No." Sir Hellsing took a deep breath. "There is something else. Please make yourself comfortable, Walter. This won't take a minute. It's about your recent medical test…"
Afterwards, Walter felt slow, stunned, languid, as if he had taken some blow to the head that had not hurt him but had nevertheless muddled his senses. He wandered down to the kitchen in a daze, thinking to find some quiet corner to sit and watch without participation on his part.
The staff was preparing the midday meal and without a word he was lead to a chair near the wall by the cook herself, a most excellent lady he'd known for over twenty years. A cup of tea, black the way he liked, was pushed into his hands by a mousy little thing that looked at him curiously for a few seconds before scurrying off again.
He drank his tea. It was strong enough to etch sheet metal but he didn't taste it. He felt nothing, saw nothing, heard nothing but the words echoing around and around his head.
"Give them to me. They are not yours to keep."
Then his own voice, speaking in tones as close to begging as he'd ever come to in his life.
"More time. Just a little more time. Please, please, just a little more. Please."
On the outside he seemed nothing more than a little thoughtful, a little distracted. But with the words in his head came the image of what he had seen that morning, Integra laughing happily as she played with Pickman, utter joy and trust on her face as he played at being the puppy he was. He had lunged forward and caught her fingers in his mouth as Walter watched, and Integra had squealed in delight.
Walter's mouth filled with blood as he bit his tongue to stop himself from howling at the moon like a madman.