Coat
John hadn't spent much time personalizing the office. He remembered all the accoutrements his father had in there, though... A humidor on the desk. Lamps, a few nice paintings, carvings and images collected over the years of his travels, pictures of his family, and more.
Victor had kept the desk barren of all but the essential papers he was working on. More efficient, perhaps, but John felt a pang of nostalgia for the comfortable clutter he'd seen spread across his father's desk, and which he'd always been surprised to find was actually well-organized. A faint smile on his face at the memory of his father's ability to always find the document he was looking for, at first try, even if it had a kid's stuffed toy, a tea saucer, and seven files on top of it.
One of the first things he had done had been to locate some of his father's effects. He'd found an old photograph, probably from the first estate, as he didn't recognize the great staircase in the background. Beatrice, that had to be her in Mother's arms, was still a baby, and he and Paul wouldn't have been born yet. Alucard stood behind them, looking exactly the same as he had since Paul had known him, though his parents...they were younger than he was. Not by much, but it was startling to see them at the start of founding the Hellsing legacy.
A touch of cold on his neck, and he realized with a start that Alucard was behind him. A thin white hand reached past him, gently lifting the picture from his hands. John turned, seeing Alucard looking at the picture with an intent, faintly...lost...expression. Both Mary and Abraham were gone, lost due to age after a long and healthy span, and the vampire was clearly drinking in the image of them in their healthy, powerful prime. The red eyes and cold face were nearly expressionless, and John recognize the mask for what it was, laying a gentle hand on Alucard's shoulder.
"I miss them, too."
A cold cheek rested briefly on his fingers, and then Alucard pulled away from him, still holding the picture tightly. A few steps from the wall, he paused, studying the picture in his hands once more. The silky white shirt vanished abruptly, a wash of red cascading from Alucard's shoulders and down his back, the vampire donning himself in the great red coat John remembered his father wearing.
Abraham's coat had been worn and patched, stained and torn after decades of hunting. The vampire had recreated it as it was in the image; not new, no, there were a few tears along the hem and it had the soft shape of a well-worn garment, not the stiffness of one that was new.
The vampire vanished through the wall, and over the next few weeks, John became accustomed to the bright red form, where he had known black and white for so many years. He did take time, though, to dig about through the attic and find the negative for the picture. He was not about to remove Alucard's picture from the vampire's room; mostly because the vampire was rarely sentimental, but when he was, his attachment to the object was absolutely fierce. But partly because, much as he loved the vampire, he was terrified of him as well, and going into those dark, chill chambers knowing Alucard was there was simply more than he could handle.
It was only a week, and the new picture was printed, gleaming at him from a bright gold frame atop his comfortably cluttered desk. It was good to look to his parents sometimes when he needed help. And he desperately needed help. He could manage everything well, he could inspire the troops, verbally joust with the Lords, and face down the vampires they hunted with courage.
But what he couldn't do was handle Alucard, and every time he flinched away, the hurt look in the vampire's eyes tore at him a bit...and then the anger that flared behind it chipped away at his confidence just that bit more.