A/n: I was planning on a double-chapter update, but I wanted to get this up to answer some questions. A lot of you guys were really perceptive in your reviews though, so you probably guessed half of it already XD

And to TheCypher48, I think this chapter might answer your question about the plot. Hopefully it's becoming clearer what's happening, but feel free to ask if there's confusion!

Same thing to anyone who's a little puzzled, don't hesitate to ask! :D

And as usual, please review and tell me what you think. Hope you enjoy!


The Witch House (7)


"WHAT!" The thin figure swiped a lamp off his desk, it's chain quivering in his grip, "WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU COULDN'T FIND IT?"

He roared, chucking the lamp at the threshold where the shorter man cowered. It smashed into pieces against the doorframe, making his stubby arms fly up to shield his head.

"I-I'm sorry, Monsieur," he whimpered, sweat flooding his beefy face, "B-but we searched the entire area and it wasn't there—"

"Then look harder!" the tall man snarled, banging his fist against shiny birch wood, "You will find it, even if you have to rummage through the entrails of the squirrels."

The subordinate flinched backwards. His hands were growing so slick with sweat damp spots were appearing over his gloves and fat rivulets oozed down his round chin.

"M-Monsieur," he began, then regretted his voice immediately, when frigid green eyes fixed upon him, "W-With the utmost, u-utmost, respect, why is this so important?"

The look he received nearly made him keel over.

"What did you say?" a suddenly hushed voice hissed, a sound like serpents in the grass. He shook his head rapidly, mouth caving in on itself, but a bony hand waved his squealing apologies away.

"Non, non, petit commandant, tell me what you mean. Now."

The man swallowed convulsively, struggling past crippling fear for words.

"I-I m-mean the English h-have already d-destroyed La Maison and s-she is dead…W-Why should we worry about a tiny pin—"

A sharp laugh cut him off—black and cold—the rest of his words died in his throat.

"Why should we worry?" the thin man repeated, shaking his head derisively, "You truly don't know what this is, do you?" A long, skeletal hand tapped the edge of a jeweled rooster's crown, pinned primly upon the lapel of his suit.

"Sometimes, I forget how feeble-minded you are, petit commandant," he mused flippantly, "Just think of what has happened between her and us. All the money, the resources, the energy and flesh. Just to feed her to a bigger dog? Non, she does not die so easily. Not while that pin is out there."

His subordinate was rapidly paling, a greenish tinge along his face.

"B-but we found her head. They killed her…"

"They did not," he replied simply, brushing a finger down the rooster's studded surface, "She shall exist as long as it does. It is the only remaining connection between us and her. Tu me comprends? That tiny pin is the end of everything."

The realization sunk in with a nauseating look of fear and a thick, oily handkerchief came out, dabbing futilely at a sagging brow.

"W-what if they found it?"

"It's possible. We are attending one of the Round Table meetings to find out," he replied, letting his arm drop and clasping his hands behind him, "Vampires are known to be attracted to shiny objects after all."

"Vampires…" the man whispered, shuddering and cold at the mere sound, "Like her, you mean? Dieu, how do the English even sleep at night knowing—"

"Non."

"P-Pardone?"

"She isn't," he smiled coldly at the confused look, "Tell me, petit commandant, what do you know of Japan?"


When Integra walked into the guest room, Doctor Trevilian was already gathering his supplies back into his bag.

"Sir Integra," he greeted respectfully, "I sent him back to the barracks. Boy looked tired, I hope you don't mind."

"Of course not, Doctor," she replied amicably, coming to stand across from the man, before going straight to the point, "What did you find?"

"Aside from a bit of earwax, essentially nothing," Trevilian shook his head in bafflement, "His ears were entirely undamaged, but it's undeniable that he is now profoundly deaf."

Integra nodded, elegant eyebrows furrowing grimly, "What do you propose then?"

"I took the liberty of placing an order for a hearing aid. Normally, I would prefer these sort of things to be custom built, but given these…extraordinary circumstances I…"

"It's not a concern," Integra dismissed, "This is only temporary. Have them direct all expenses to the Hellsing Organization."

The doctor smiled lightly. "Of course, Sir Integra. Aside from the hearing aid, I also advise looking a bit into sign language and lip-reading. They help along communication by a great deal."

Integra nodded, already having several names in mind; some of the older Hellsing soldiers had been required to learn lip-reading while serving in the military.

"I suppose we can assume these results are not unique," she commented blandly.

Trevilian shifted, a slightly uncomfortable look flashed through his eyes.

"I am…not an expert on vampires, but I suppose if the physiological functions remain relatively the same, then my guess is yes."

It's just a spell, Integra reminded herself, resisting the urge to massage her temples.

"Thank you, Doctor Trevilian. I have no desire to keep you waiting until evening, so there is no need for you to examine Alucard or Seras. Walter can escort you out as usual."

The man nodded, picking up his bag with faint relief.

"Not at all, Sir Integra, it's only my duty," he took a step toward the door, before suddenly stopping, "Oh, I can't believe I nearly forgot. There was this strange image along the wall of his left ear canal. I'm not sure if it was a birthmark or if it's relevant but I sketched it down."

Integra's eyebrows arched as the man picked up a piece of paper from the table. They nearly disappeared into her hairline when she saw the picture.

Trevilian scratched his head, puzzled, "I don't know if I even saw it correctly but it looks a little like a rooster doesn't it?"

Integra wheeled on him. "You said you saw this in his ear canal?"

The doctor blinked at the woman, surprised by the urgency in her tone. "Y-Yes, ma'am, is there something wrong?"

But Integra was no longer paying attention. The sketch looked identical to the marks she saw on Alucard and Seras, throwing her tattoo theory promptly out the window.

"On the throat for the mute," she muttered, eyes widening, "The eye for the blind and the ear for the deaf."

She spun toward an unnerved Doctor Trevilian, nearly yelling in his face, "They're seals for the spell!"

"Sir Integra!" Both Integra and Trevilian jumped, whirling around to stare at a frazzled Walter at the doorway. Neither of them had noticed when he'd left the room.

"Sir Integra, I apologize for the interruption, but I just received news that the meeting has been rescheduled."

Integra almost snorted at how incredibly unimportant she found the information. But seeing as Walter looked a bit distraught, she humored him.

"Well, when is it then?"

"Somewhere in the next forty minutes, ma'am."

"WHAT?" Integra shrieked, gaping at Walter like she thought he was joking, "What the bloody hell is so pressing?"

"Lord Anguis will be attending."

"Who's Lord Anguis?"

"The French official who proposed this mission."

Integra's eyes immediately narrowed into cold slits. "Oh, is he? Well, at least this won't be a complete waste of time then. Now I won't have to hunt them down separately."

She exited the room at a brisk pace, pausing only to send Trevilian an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, Doctor, but I'm afraid I will need Walter for the remaining time. If you would head downstairs, I'm sure one of the maids can see you out." The Hellsing woman went down the hall without another word, Walter at her heels, leaving the bewildered doctor behind.

"Walter, I'm going to need the usual files, along with that folder containing Alucard's report."

"Of course, ma'am."

"And I also need you to keep an eye for anything related to roosters."

To her butler's credit, he didn't even break stride. "…Roosters, Sir Integra?"

"The spell's seals, Walter. Images of roosters were found on the three of them," she explained shortly, "I want every last piece of information you can gather on it. Particularly items from witchcraft or alchemy. We'll likely have to search through the old journals as well."

"Yes, Sir Integra," Walter replied amiably, unfazed at all by the sudden new discovery, "Shall I still have Alucard and Miss Victoria move back to the basement?"

Integra shook her head. "Forget it. I need to talk to them tonight anyway. Just lock the doors and tell the servants to stay away."

Walter nodded again and they walked the rest of the way to the office in silence. Integra was mentally listing all the negative consequences that had come from this new alliance. She would make them pay dearly for the shit they had caused her organization and nothing was going to be left out.


Due to the efficiency of Walter and a new driver that was eager to showcase his ability to navigate London's streets, they arrived at the The Langham hotel (where the meeting was scheduled for) with almost fifteen minutes to spare.

"You think the President was coming with all this pomp," Integra mused, scowling at the silken drapery and large, crystalline chandeliers that hung overhead. "Why have I never heard of this official?"

"Apparently, no one really has," Walter replied, following behind her with hands folded neatly behind his back, "All we know is that his family is part of the old French aristocracy, which has had strong influential ties to the government for several centuries now."

Integra smirked sardonically, "Hm, so much for democracy then."

"Indeed, ma'am."

They continued down the dimly lit corridor, every so often passing marble pedestals decorated with mammoth-sized chrysanthemums and roses, or some obscure statue that bordered on the lewd. Large windows had their curtains tied back by golden sashes, marking their way with long white rectangles of light and a birds eye view of the bustling streets.

Money well spent as always, Integra thought sarcastically, as they passed by an obscene brass statue of two angels. She was unspeakably glad Walter knew the way to the conference room, or else they would've likely wandered these gaudy hallways for hours.

As it would have it, he expertly directed them through the labyrinthine maze of flowers and statues, arriving swiftly at a pair of large oak doors.

An expansive, sleek room greeted them as Walter pulled open the door, with a oblong table of dark mahogany at the center. High-back chairs with velvet cushions were placed in neat rows on both sides, and elaborately arranged dinnerware was in front of each one. A chandelier the size of a small house hung like a monstrous disco ball over the whole affair.

Integra took two steps into the room, and felt much like she was walking into Hell.

"Sir Integra," a strict, cool voice said. Sir Islands's flat and dour face emerged from behind the blazing reflective light of the chandelier. He nodded in greeting at Walter, before appraising Integra with a faintly exasperated look.

"Really, you didn't think to wear something more…appropriate at least this once?" he asked, eyeing her mannish suit and tie.

Integra raised an eyebrow at him. "I wasn't aware this meeting had changed into a social gathering. I would have gladly declined and saved you the embarrassment of my "inappropriate" manner of dress if that were the case."

Sir Islands scowled, which Integra returned with a stubborn glare. The match only lasted for a few seconds however, before Sir Islands sighed.

"The whole point of this is to make a good impression, Integra," he said, "Your clothes aside, you would do well to not take such a tone with Lord Anguis."

"Oh, am I to grovel on my knees before him for seeing my agents as assassins-for-hire?" she snapped, unable to hide the growing fury in her voice, "I thought you told me you would discuss this with the other members, Sir Islands."

The leader of the Round Table frowned. "I did. Several of them found the whole affair rather reasonable. They are only asking for assistance occasionally, with very simple low-level assignments. Something I'm sure your "agent" will find all too easy."

Integra's temper began to disintegrate. "Goddamn snakes…"

"I beg your pardon?"

Flashes of Pip jumping beneath Walter's hand came across her mind, Seras and her white, pupil-less eyes. Alucard…

"I said they're goddamn snakes!" she said, startling Walter and making Sir Islands blink in surprise, "They sent us in there with poor information, resources or ways of communicating, and expect to be able dismiss it as low-level?"

Walter pulled anxiously at her sleeve, but was ignored.

"They've had the same vampire problem for years," Sir Islands snapped, scanning the room for a moment to ensure it was still empty, "I saw the file. They gave you a detailed report on the location and habits of the vampire. There was even a description of what she looked like, which I can imagine was extremely difficult to obtain, what else could you possibly—"

"How about the fact that she was a witch?" Integra snarled, calm effectively lost, "Or that she knew how to make seals?"

Walter was now actively trying to calm her. "Sir Integra, please…" Integra held up a hand to silence him, eyes narrowed upon a shocked Sir Islands.

"I sincerely hope the people of London are versed in supernatural combat, Sir Islands, because as of last night, no one will be coming to save them."


After several minutes of explanation from an anxious Walter, Sir Islands sat back in his chair with an impassive look on his face.

"And your vampire had no way of dealing with her at all?"

Walter cringed and was about to speak again, when Integra interrupted him.

"Seeing as he blew off her head without much effort, I think he dealt with her fine," she stared coldly at Islands from where Walter had ushered her into a seat at the head of the table, "But she should never have been labeled a Category C. The operation was poorly led and those reports were all from crippled or traumatized witnesses."

"It is their country. Both the President of France and Her Majesty insisted on letting them conduct their own investigation," Sir Islands replied, meeting her gaze, "Our hands were just as tied as yours, Sir Integra."

Integra scoffed bitterly. "Of course, Director. As I recall, the Convention was just repulsed by the mere thought of this proposition."

Walter nudged her foot gently in warning beneath the table, but was ignored again. Surprisingly however, Sir Islands simply sighed.

"It cannot be helped," he said, iron jaw loosening in the first sign of weariness, "For now, I suggest you keep these weaknesses to yourself until there's a firm grasp on the situation. Am I to assume you haven't lost any control over your creature?"

"No," Integra replied curtly, though made a mental note to recheck the seals once she returned.

"Good. As for France, you'll have plenty of opportunity to negotiate relations today. We'll be here for quite a while." He gestured explanatorily at the silverware and plates. Integra glared at her wine glass like it was a particularly disgusting rat.

"How long?"

"The whole day."

"It is a request from Her Majesty, Integra," Sir Islands added tranquilly, at the woman's incredulous expression.

"Even so," she snapped, "I don't have time to listen to some French fool prattle all day." In honesty, she'd planned to simply release her anger on the lot of them and depart, never to hear another word about France for as long as she was able.

"We all have very little time, Sir Integra," Islands said, tone steely, "And I don't think it is necessary to tell you to treat him with respect. Perhaps he did mishandle the operation of this mission, but he is still a high-ranked official in France and he did travel all this way."

I'm sure those two hours in first-class were just grueling for him, Integra thought venomously. The doors opened again however, before she could voice another protest and the rest of the council members filed in—laughing and chattering like they were about to have a jolly old time.

Sir Islands sent Integra a pointed look and she gritted her teeth, having no choice but to resign herself to her fate.


They had been waiting for more than an hour by the time Lord Anguis arrived.

Integra rubbed her temples, wishing desperately for a cigar. Save for Sir Penwood, who had given her a friendly wave and she'd shared a few pleasantries with, the rest of the members had sent her cursory nods before settling into their seats. A rising gaggle of noise surrounded the table as the old men chattered with each other, exchanging pieces of gossip on Lord Anguis as if teenage girls about to meet a pop idol. It was disgusting and embarrassing and Integra had grown more sick of being in the room with each passing second.

Her only solace was that Walter had been productive, smoothly compiling information about the rooster seal on his phone, while Integra's eyes partially glazed over from staring too long at the chandelier. She had been in the middle of contemplating how exactly a single strand of cable could hold an object of such obscene mass when the doors suddenly clicked open.

The members sprang up with surprising speed, turning eagerly to face the entrance, as Integra rose at a far more reluctant pace. At the threshold was a spindly, dark-haired man with a pointed beard and harsh twin lines for a mustache. A considerably shorter and stockier man stood behind, flitting around the room with nervous, fearful eyes.

"Bonjour à tous," the former said smoothly, stepping inside the room, regarding the faces with a cool air.

The analytical part of Integra automatically noted down the man's features, from the ends of his wing-tipped shoes to the supercilious angle of his slicked head. A jagged feeling of dislike began forming within the pit of her stomach almost instantly.

Sir Islands stood, walking over to shake hands with the man.

"Lord Anguis, I'm presuming. I am Sir Hugh Islands of the Round Table Council," he introduced, then with a hint of irritation, "It's a great pleasure, but we were expecting you a while ago."

Anguis smiled unapologetically, "Yes, yes, do forgive us. Whilst my companion and I were admiring the wonders of your marvelous city, we simply lost track of time. Oh, pardone moi, this is Commandant Jean Petit." He waved an uninterested hand at the man behind him, who bowed his head slightly and muttered a quiet 'bonjour.'

"Do not worry about lack of seating, Sir Islands, as Commandant Petit will not be joining us," he turned to the man, barking a clipped, "Va-t-en."

The man scurried out gratefully and Integra nearly rolled her eyes as Sir Islands took the moment when Anguis's back was turned to motion her over.

"Before we begin, Lord Anguis, I would like to introduce Sir Integra Hellsing, Director of the Hellsing Organization." Integra could barely stop her lip from curling at the condescendingly surprised look shot at her.

"My, this is a most pleasant surprise," Anguis hissed, moving in far too close, "I wasn't aware such a complex organization was led by a lovely mademoiselle such as yourself."

Integra stared back at him; up close, she noticed his eyes were a piercing light green, with the narrow pupils of a snake.

"Sir Hellsing, if you please," she said, and smirked caustically, "And I wasn't aware your people were capable of stranding my agents in the middle of a swamp for the night, but I suppose we both expected differently."

Sir Islands's glare was murderous, but Integra looked blithely away. She hadn't come with the intention of forming any so-called relations and she was already beginning to suspect Anguis hadn't either. As if to prove her right, the man's smile remained blank and icy.

"It seems we have plenty to discuss," he said eventually, gesturing toward the table.

Integra returned to her seat without a word, ignoring the mixed looks of shock and outrage on the other members' faces. Walter was regarding Anguis disdainfully as both he and Sir Islands took their seats.

I don't know what you want, Integra thought darkly, But I'll have you think twice before messing with what's mine.


Pip yawned, stretching out long limbs on the rec room's couch, as he flipped dully through the television channels. It was late noon now, though it had been only twenty minutes since he'd dragged himself out of bed, and there was little else to do but waste away in front of the box.

Why fucking bother? a part of him thought cynically, the one that was feeling sorry for himself, You can't hear it anyway.

The mercenary captain groaned and slumped further into the cushions. It'd been nice to pretend for a few minutes that he was just watching the TV on mute, before his subconscious got in the way again.

Pip stared abjectly at an old documentary, wondering what it was about (pyramids? aliens?) before changing the channel a few times without really looking, eventually landing on some trash reality show. A flamboyant host was babbling enthusiastically from a pink tulip microphone, while three girls in threadbare bikinis stood in giant pie platters, smiling demonically at the audience. Pip paused for a long contemplative moment, regarding the bulging cleavages. When the whip cream appeared, he tossed the remote on the table and got comfortable.

He was in the middle of trying to decipher whether the brunette's breasts were real or not through her facial expressions, when something landed with a smack against his chest, nearly making him fall off the couch. Fumbling and cursing, Pip sat up with a glare, only to be met with the amused expression of his lieutenant.

"What the hell, Silford?" he barked, swinging his legs down to the floor, "I already said I'd buy another damn flamethrower you bastard, why the hell are you throwing things at me?"

Silford just rolled his eyes and pointed at the box in Pip's lap. Since the Wild Geese had taken their captain's sudden disability in remarkable stride, he also slipped out a notepad and pen from his pocket.

It's a hearing aid, Captain. Just got sent here for you by Doc Trevilian.

"Hearing aid?" Pip repeated, blinking down at the medium sized package, "You mean like for geezers?"

Just open it, sir.

Shrugging, Pip lifted up the cardboard flaps, unraveling what had to be at least six layers of bubble wrap and foam padding, before reaching a pair of small crescent-shaped devices. "What the hell?" he breathed, picking one up with two fingers.

Silford sat down next to him, scribbling eagerly in his pad. Try it out, Captain. See if it works.

"Yeah, but how do I do that?" Pip muttered, awkwardly flipping it around, only to have his lieutenant practically shove the instruction manual in his face. After a few minutes of skimming, he managed to get the aids powered on and hooked over his ears.

"Mon Dieu, this is actually working," he murmured in awe, as he twisted the knobs of the adjuster. At first there was more background noise than anything, but as Pip continued tuning the device, bits and pieces of the television began filtering in.

"I can fucking hear it, Lieutenant," he said again, vaguely giddy, as a catfight broke out between the brunette and the blonde on screen. When the host pushed them apart dramatically and spouted a few cliched lines of wisdom that were crystal clear, Pip lost it.

"I can fucking hear it!" he grabbed Silford by the collar, grin threatening to split his face, "Here, say something!"

The older man grinned knowingly back. "Well, me and your mom—"

Pip punched him in the shoulder.

"Ah, sorry, sorry," Silford said, wincing slightly as he rubbed his shoulder, "'Was just makin' sure you could actually hear me. You can get carried away sometimes, Cap'em."

Pip glared in irritation for a moment, but was too ecstatic to stay angry. "Next time it won't be your shoulder," he warned, turning back to the TV, though the threat was partially lost with his smile. The crisp, slobbery sound of the blonde blubbering into a tissue made part of him want to jump joyfully through the ceiling. It was only the suave, more image-minded side (what he liked to call his professional side) that saved him from that.

"Want to watch the game?" he asked instead, picking up the remote.

Silford shrugged, a wry smile on as he leaned back. "Sure."

They flipped back to the sports channel, only to find a breaking news coverage splashed across the screen. The anchorwoman was announcing the possible arrival of a high-ranking French bureaucrat at the Langham Hotel, making Silford look at him.

"Who's Lord Aquine, Cap'em?"

Pip shrugged, "How would I know? I lived there till I was sixteen and then bolted. It's political shit anyway."

He was about to change channels again, when a fuzzy photograph of a tall, snakey man in the Elysee Palace suddenly popped up. Pip snorted at the large, grossly expensive looking pin on his lapel, "You sure his name isn't Lord Queen instead?"

Silford sent him an odd look, "It's a rooster."

"Yeah, and it has more diamonds than the women put together." Though it did look vaguely familiar for some reason…

His lieutenant was shaking his head in disbelief. "Christ, you really don't know anything about your country, do you Cap'em? Rooster's France's national bird."

Pip stared at him. "If you're trying to impress me right now, Lieutenant, I'm afraid you—"

Then it hit him.

"HOLY SHIT!" Pip spun back to the screen with a dinner plate eye, scaring the life out of Silford.

"Sir?! What's wrong?" But Pip was already off the couch and tearing down the hall.


The sun had bled a deep scarlet across the horizon when Seras peeled open her murky eyes. Ugh, I fell asleep after all, she thought groggily, gingerly sitting up from her twisted position on the couch, Sir Integra's going to be angry.

Thinking it was better to apologize sooner than later, Seras staggered upright, only to trip over the blanket caught around her legs. With a shriek, and furious wind-milling arms that saved her from a face-plant, she fell hard on her butt.

"Bloody hell," Seras muttered, rubbing her sore rear, "What a great week so far…" She was about to rise when a cold hand grabbed her forearm.

Your voice remains unfailingly shrill, police girl, Alucard grumbled, lifting herbodily to her feet.

Seras blushed slightly. "I'm sorry, Master. Did I wake you?"

No, Alucard sent a faintly confused look at the armchair and blanket he had awoken tangled up in, It's not possible to sleep well outside a coffin.

Seras mentally disagreed, having missed her bed since day one, though it explained why she felt sluggish instead of the usual rejuvenated feeling.

"We should go see if Sir Integra still needs us. She's probably angry," Seras reminded him, afraid he was going to tumble into his coffin for another three hours and get into even more trouble.

As it would have it, Alucard was actually about to sink into the sweet, dank darkness of the basement, when the matter graced his thoughts again. Whatever it was, it likely wasn't important, he commented disinterestedly, even as he stretched careful tendrils across the mind link, attempting to gauge his master's mood (and whether he needed to push Seras into the office and make a run for it).

His fledgling frowned, about to reprimand her sire on responsibility, when a cool rush of surprise flooded their bond. "Master?" she asked, raising her sightless eyes.

She's not here, Alucard stared at the doors with slight bewilderment.

"Huh?" Seras looked nervous, flashes of Integra being assaulted and kidnapped while they slept on obliviously ran through her mind, "Did something happen to her?"

Alucard didn't answer, calmly trying to pinpoint Integra's location, fueled with more curiosity than actual worry. If anything serious had happened to his master, he would've already known.

The Langham, he grinned at the droning atmosphere he was sensing when he fixed on her, In a meeting.

And quite an extravagant one too. He could hear the echoing clink of wine glasses and silverware.

"Wow, I use to dream of spending a week at the Langham," Seras marveled, though after a moment blinked in confusion, "Why would she be having a meeting there?"

Alucard snorted. Trust his fledgling to think about such insignificant details. The way he saw it, Integra was unharmed and he was still tired, so the whole thing was a perfect excuse for some decent sleep.

Let's go, he said, tugging Seras forward by the wrist.

"G-Go?" she parroted, shuffling quickly to match his long strides so he wasn't dragging her, "Where are we going?"

Downstairs, was the simple reply, It's hard to sleep up here.

Seras made a face. If it was going to be one of those rare nights without missions she'd rather not waste any of it unconscious.

Either sleep or drink, police girl. Your choice.

"On second thought, it wouldn't hurt to catch a few hours before rising again." Alucard grinned at her rapid decision. Sooner or later, she'd have to feed again, but for now he pulled her along.

Seras followed her sire through the hallway, feeling strangely comforted by the large icy hand over hers. A corner of her mind feared he was going to guide her into a wall just for kicks, but it beat clinging to the paneling by so much she hardly cared.

To her pleasant surprise though, Alucard was relatively careful as they descended the stairs. They were nearing the kitchen that led down to the basement when loud rummaging and swearing was heard from the laundry room.

Simultaneously, both of them turned to glance in, but only Alucard stared blankly. Seras tilted her head at the familiar French accent.

"Pip?"

The mercenary spun around with blurring speed, nearly dropping a pair of trousers he had bundled in his hands. He was frozen like a deer caught in headlights, before his brain interpreted who the figures standing in the shadows were.

"Oh, it's you guys," he breathed, slumping, "God, would it kill you to make some sound when you're walking?"

An astonished look crossed Seras's face, "You can hear me?"

Pip's face split into a momentary grin at mention of his reacquired ability.

"Yeah, the doc got me a hearing aid," he gestured proudly at his mechanized ears, though the only reaction he got was an unimpressed glance from Alucard.

Seras smiled kindly, "That's great, Captain. What were you doing in here anyway?"

"Just looking for something," Pip held out a closed fist, "I found it in the wreck."

He opened his palm.

Seras heard her master snort. What is that? An insect?