A/N Well, I actually intended to get this done sooner, but here it is. It' a touch bigger than my other submissions, so I hope it was worth the wait. Keep those reviews coming, my friends, your every word may be essential to the completion of this work!

Disclaimer: I don't own Hellsing, but I do own a computer that has a bunch of crap written about Hellsing in it.

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The target board slid toward Jake's booth at the range, and he looked at it dejectedly.

"God, that was terrible," he grimaced, "I didn't even hit the body."

"You said you've never shot a gun before, right?" said Seras.

"Yeah, but still…"

"Besides," she continued, taking the gun from him. "You're a vampire trying to shoot like a human. That never works."

"Then how do vampires shoot?"

"With their third eye." She said, as though it were a well-known fact.

He looked at her, incredulous. "Third eye?"

She smiled knowingly. It was sort of fun to play the teacher. She remembered how confused and, at times, powerless she felt next to Alucard. But she certainly wasn't planning on being quite so rough with Jake; he was a good deal younger than she was, and had no combat experience of any kind. He was literally a fresh student, hers to build from the ground up.

"Here, let me show you." She demonstrated, holding the gun's sight between her eyes. "If you pretend you have a third eye, then your vision will be altered to where you can aim perfectly."

Seras fired. Headshot. Dead center. Fifty meters. Jake looked confused. She handed him the pistol, and she noticed, for the first time, that there were scars on the tips of each of his fingers and thumbs, extending underneath his nails a little. She'd ask him later. She didn't want to distract him.

"Ok…"he said, hesitantly, "Here goes nothing."

Seras watched as he cocked the pistol slowly, a little unsure of himself, and aimed the gun so as not to favor either eye.

"Third eye, huh?" he closed his eyes for minute, probably trying to picture opening another in the middle of his forehead. He opened his eyes. Aiming for the head, he held a breath that he didn't need to, and fired three times.

"Whoa…"

The target moved forward to show him the results, though Seras could already see the results. One shot at the neck, one in the eye, and the other pierced an ear. She smiled broadly at his awestruck expression.

"See? It's not so hard if you concentrate."

"Weird." He mused aloud. "It was like my vision sorta 'zoomed in' or something."

A voice resounded through the intercom and Seras' head perked up. "Squads B and C prepare for combat. Arrive at transport bay stat."

She turned back to Jake. "That's me. Probably just another freak vampire. I'll be back in a few hours. Keep practicing, ok?" She put a hand on his shoulder, and she couldn't help but notice that he tensed up ever so slightly. She ran off to the armory, just barely hearing his quiet "Yes, master."

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As he had been doing for the last half hour or so, Jake sat in his chair, staring at the icebox in front of him. Inside it was a packet labeled: Medical Blood B-. Inevitably, the question refused to be answered, should he drink it?

Of course not. He didn't want to become a blood-hungry fiend. Surely, there had to be some alternative. Wasn't there?

But what if there wasn't? He didn't need to be told that he would only grow weaker the longer he held out, but wouldn't it show him to be weak, giving into the hunger so soon? Or was considered it weaker to resist? He idly wondered if B- blood tasted any different from AB+.

Instead of deciding, he turned his mind to his master. Even though she was probably used to dealing with monsters, he couldn't help but worry about her. Then he wondered, would she be upset with him if he didn't drink?

He sighed and took to glancing around his room. In the center was a wooden table and chair, which he sat in now. On the wall to his right was a special monitor to act as substitute for a mirror, though he couldn't shake the feeling that he wasn't the only one who could see the image on the screen. And to the left was his coffin, which he knew he would never get used to.

But oddly enough, that didn't bother him anywhere near as much as the walls themselves. They were made of stone. He wasn't sure what about that bothered him so much. It was just as well, right? Maybe it reminded him of a dungeon, or a prison. No, that wasn't it. Something else…

He heard a knock on the door. He took one last look at the blood pack, and closed the icebox. "Come in."

His master walked into the room. Relief washed over him. She didn't seem wounded, or even phased for that matter. Suddenly, thinking he had to show some level of recognition to her he rose/

"Why did you stand up like that? Did I scare you?" she asked.

"No," he started, "I just thought I should…"

She waved a hand dismissively. "Don't worry, I'm not Sir Hellsing. You don't have to be so tense." She pulled up a chair.

Thank God for that. He thought to himself. "How did the mission go?"

"Just like I figured, just another freak vampire and his ghoul friends. It was over in less time than it took to get there. What about the range? How's your shooting?"

He shrugged. "A little better, I guess. My best grouping so far is five inches."

"That's very good for your first day holding a gun. Don't sell yourself so short."

"Thanks, master." He said bashfully.

His eyes shifted involuntarily to the closed ice bucket. Knowing she probably already knew his problem, he decided there couldn't be any harm in asking.

"Is there any other way to survive without drinking blood?"

She smiled sheepishly. "Well, you'd have to sleep in a closed coffin…"

His lips straightened. The terms "rock" and "hard place" came to mind. There was no way he could sleep in a space that tight. As far back as he could remember, he had been horribly claustrophobic. He was rushed to a hospital after nearly suffering a heart attack when a couple kids at school stuffed him in a locker. True, he no longer had a heartbeat, but still…

Reluctantly, he reached for the icebox, pulled out the bag of blood, and tore it open. He started at it for while.

"It's ok. I was the same way. For the longest time, I refused to drink blood. It got easier when I remembered that the people who gave this blood did it willingly. Try to think of—"

He suddenly kicked the bag back as if it were a shot glass, downing it all in three gulps. B- did taste slightly sweeter, but not by much. He wiped off his lips and turned back to his master.

"—that." She finished, taken slightly aback.

"Master, did I do something wrong?" he asked, nervous.

She held up a hand disarmingly. "Oh no, it's nothing." Jake caught her eyes wandering back to the scars on his fingers, just as they had at the range.

"I don't really know where they came from, if you wanted to know."

His master suddenly tensed, as if guiltily. "I'm sorry."

"It's ok, master." He said. He looked down at his fingers thoughtfully. "You know what Frank used to call them?"

"Frank?"

"Oh, that's right…he's the frontman of my band, or was, anyway. He always used to say that they were where the devils come out. He said that was why I played the guitar so well. Ever since then, everyone started calling me 'The Summoner.' Kinda stupid, I know…"

"Not at all." Said Seras, "your friends really cared for you. They thought the name Jake Rivers just didn't do you justice, so they gave you one that they felt fit you better. I'd love to see you play sometime."

And, for the first time since he'd gotten here, Jake smiled, sincerely. Apparently, his Master noticed.

"Well, it's getting late…I mean early. Tomorrow, we'll move on to hand to hand combat. Get some rest, ok?"

"Yes, Master."

She turned to leave.

"Oh, Master?"

"Hmm?"

"Thank you."

She smiled. "Anytime, Jake."