Summary: Based on The Bone Collector.

Rating for this chapter: T

Picture link: art/Hans-X-Seras-Sick-99659666

Disclaimer: Hellsing belongs to Kouta Hirano, artwork belongs to Lsayaku, The Captain belongs to Seras and vice versa.

"This means they are speaking in German."

AN: This plot was a request from Karo Kiba; after it's concluded I have (at least) 3 other requests for next year, but I will get to them.

I hope you guys have a great and safe holiday. There's a lot of terrible stuff happening right now but try to use this time to smile, have fun and be with people you love.

I'll see you in 2015 xo


Hans tossed his gym bag onto the couch as he trudged into his apartment, sighing and rolling his sore neck; all he wanted to do was take a shower and go to sleep but he probably needed to eat first.

One of the downsides of not having a woman in his life, no one to make sure he was taking care of himself.

He yawned loudly and wandered over to his fridge, it wasn't even midday and he was already exhausted.

God, when was the last time he had gotten a full night's sleep?

He pulled out some leftover pasta, making sure he kept his back to the spare room that was his office; he was under strict instructions to relax today.

Days off didn't suit him anymore, he needed a hobby… maybe he could take up model building, or join a book club, anything to take his mind off…

He practically threw the bowl in the microwave, maybe he could marathon a new TV show after his nap, or sleep until tomorrow morning.

Actually, that sounded like a good idea.

The couch felt like heaven; he was probably going to fall asleep on it as soon as he finished eating. He turned the TV on, flicking through channels as he waited for his lunch to cool. He was careful to avoid the news, though he caught a glimpse of his boss giving a statement to reporters.

Somehow, he must have been much more tired than he realised, because he didn't know there was another man in his home until the barrel of a gun was pressed into the back of his head.

"Don't move, Detective," the intruder warned.

Hans obeyed.

"Do you know who I am?"

"The Munich Vampire," he replied, smart ass comments were not going to get him out of this alive.

"Well, that's just what the press dubbed me, but yes."

"Do you mind if I turn the TV off?" Hans asked.

"Move slowly."

Once again, Hans obeyed, slowly reaching for the remote.

"While I was waiting I read over your profile on me, I particularly like the part that said I'm 'compensating for sexual inadequacies'."

"It's a theory," Hans explained, trying to stall, "it's been seen before with people like you."

"There's no one like me," the killer boasted.

Hans resisted the urge to counter that, "are you here to kill me, or is there another reason?"

When there wasn't a response right away, the detective knew the answer.

"I'm sorry, but this is your own fault," to Hans' surprise, the man did sound remorseful, "you interfered."

"I'll just be replaced by someone else," he reasoned, "and you can't keep killing us forever."

"I don't need to, I'm almost finished… just a few more…" he sounded like a thirsty man in the desert.

"Finished what?" Hans asked, hoping to at least get some answers.

"Nice try," the killer scoffed.

"If you're going to kill me anyway-"

The gun pressed into his skull, telling him to shut up.

"Will you drain me, too?" Hans asked.

"Tempting, but I doubt you're a virgin."

Virgin? That didn't add up. "Not all your victim's were-"

"I am sorry about them, I didn't know it had to be virgin blood," againthe lunatic did sound sorry. "But now I do, no one else has to die unnecessarily."

Alright, Hans had some new information, now he just had to live long enough to pass it on.

"Except me."

"No, I told you, this is your own fault."

"Bullshit," Hans growled, mentally saying a quick prayer. What he was about to do was absurdly risky. "You're killing me because you're scared, because you're a coward. All your victims were struck over the back of the head; even now you're holding a gun to the back of my head-"

"You want to look me in the eye? Fine." The Detective watched him approached from the corner of his eye, "let's just get this over-"

Hans lunged off his couch, making sure to grab the hand with the gun just before his larger body slammed into the other.

The killer had been smart enough to wear a ski mask; Hans was dumb enough to grab at it with his free hand when he should have subdued the other arm.

Desperate to know who was behind it, he started pulling at the mask when he felt the knife slide into his stomach, and when he kept pulling it twisted, the pain causing his body to seize up and forcing him to let go.

Hans was pushed aside limply; barely able to breathe through the burning agony searing through his gut.

"You stupid…" his attacker muttered, getting back on his feet, "tell me that this is better than a bullet in the back of your head."

Hans didn't answer, not really in the mood to chat, he was pretty sure his intestine had been pierced.

"I know you were just doing your job, but-" the killer took a step forward, putting him within arm's reach and Hans decided that he could at least stop from hurting anyone else.

The detective pulled the knife from his stomach and jammed it into the nearest kneecap, twisting and dragging until he felt a bone crack. He had been hoping to slice the femoral artery and cause the bastard to bleed out, but this was good too.

The killer stumbled back, clutching his leg before falling over, trying not to scream under his mask. His blood trickled onto the floor and Hans inwardly cheered at the evidence that would be left behind.

His blue eyes closed against his will… God, he was so tired, he just wanted to sleep.

When he opened them again, the killer was standing over him unsteadily, gun pointed at his chest.

"Every cop in the city will come after you for this," Hans warned.

"Not you."

The first bullet hurt like Hell, deep and burning, but it faded as his body went numb and then he couldn't feel anything.

He was grateful for that when the second bullet hit his head.

A year later…

For the second time in less than five weeks, Detective Seras Victoria stared at the body of a woman, not much younger than herself, drained of blood and left to rot in a warehouse.

CSI were clamoring around the scene, dusting, taking pictures, shining lights hoping to find something, anything that would lead them to her killer. Seras could only think about the last body and how there had been no hint of another person.

"It's the same as before," Officer Ferguson said, confirming what they all knew. "Same method was used to drain her."

She sighed, "then we have a serial killer."

At first they'd been hoping it was just a one off, but someone who killed so neatly must have spent time perfecting it and weren't going to stop until they were caught. It was a ritual now, a young woman kidnapped on the day of a full moon, sucked dry and discarded around dawn.

"I have to call the Superintendent," she told him, pulling out her phone and stepping away, glad for a reason not to look. Nine years of police work and she was still a little squeamish, though she would be more worried if she wasn't affected by it.

"Superintendent Integra Hellsing," her boss answered.

"It's Seras."

"Oh, God," the older woman sighed, "is it him again?"

"Yes."

"Shit, the media already know about the new body, it's a matter of hours until they connect the dots."

Or someone in the station leaked the information.

"Will you call a conference?"

"That might be best; I'll speak with Penfield and get back to you." Seras was sure she could hear her rubbing her temples, "please have some good news by then."

"I'll try," she promised.

After hanging up she took a moment to breathe before going back out.

She inspected the body again, looking at how it was positioned. The girl hadn't been dumped, it looked like she had been placed and that was all, no care afterwards.

"We've got footprints!" One of the investigators yelled, a few of the coworkers cheered.

It wasn't much but Seras would take it; if the pattern stayed the same then she had a month until another body showed up.


The station was busier than usual; reporters gathered outside, every phone ringing unless someone was talking into it; it was enough to give Seras a headache.

Before she could find sanctuary in her office, she was told to see the Superintendent; she doubted it was good news.

Despite the woman's wealth, her office was modestly and sparsely decorated, a few awards, a picture of her late father, and every piece of paper work immaculately organized.

Integra herself was behind her desk, the light from her computer creating a white light on the lens of her glasses.

"Did something happen?" Seras asked.

She was just signaled over to the other side of the desk.

"Seras, this is Chief Bach with the Kriminalpolizei in Munich," Integra said, gesturing to the man whose face was taking up her computer screen.

"Hello, sir," Seras greeted respectfully.

"Good morning, Detective."

"Could you repeat what you just told me?" Integra asked.

He nodded, "ve believe zhe murders you're investigating vere committed by a man vanted here."

"The one draining women's blood?"

"Ve referred to him as zhe Munich Vampire, he's committed seven murders zhat ve know of and almost killed vun of my best men."

"You're certain?" Seras hoped she hadn't just offended him.

"We've shared some information," Integra said, "there's no doubt."

"So, what now?"

"Ve'll send you vhat ve know," Bach promised. "But I have a request I'd like you to consider."

"Go ahead," Integra said, not looking particularly trusting.

"Detective Günsche, zhe man I mentioned who vas attacked, it vas his case and he'd like to help you personally."

"Understandable," Integra said, "is he thinking email, Skype-"

"No," he interrupted, "forgive me, it's a second language. I think I meant… In person."

"He wants to come here?" Integra clarified.

"Yes."

"Is that allowed?" Seras asked.

"I believe so," Integra said a little uncertainly. "He wouldn't have power of arrest or-"

"Zhat von't be a problem," Bach said grimly. "Zhe attack left Günsche paralyzed; he can't move anything below his stomach."

"Oh," Seras replied, "… what would he be doing then?"

"At zhe moment ve have him working on computers, officers in zhe field call him if zhey need names or files checked, sometimes share idea vith him, its proven quite effective."

"And you want him to do the same with me?" Seras said.

"Actually, ve vould like to take it a step further, he can't go to zhe crimes scenes, but zhe technology is at a place vhere he can be zhere vithout being zhere, vith zhis…" he reached off screen and held up a pair of ordinary looking glasses.

Knowing he had to have a point, the Englishwomen stayed quiet and let him make it.

"Zhere's a camera in here," he tapped the bridge, "zhe idea is zhat you vear zhis and an earpiece vith Günsche on zhe other end. He sees vhat you see and you talk to each other."

Seras hesitated, not particularly confident about that plan.

"You vill be in charge and can turn either off if you vish," Bach assured, "Günsche vill obey your orders and if he steps out of line, you're free to send him home."

Seras was still unconvinced.

"Like I said, he's vun of my best; his closure rate is in the high nineties, he's great vith victims and vitnesses, he's done work from vice to undercover…" Bach seemed to realize he needed to stop, "and in my experience a new set of eyes never hurt."

The detective looked at her boss, hoping the choice would be made for her.

Integra crushed that hope, "Seras, he'd be working with you, so it's your decision."

"I suppose we could try it," if it saved the next girl, it would be worth it.

"Thank you," Bach said, "ve vant zhis man caught just as much as you, Günsche especially, he von't let you down."

"How soon can he be over here?"

"He thinks zhe day after next at latest, he'd be on a plane now but his doctors are reluctant to let him go. Ve'll organize as much as ve can here and update you vhen ve can."

"Alright," Integra agreed.

"Thank you, I can't tell you how much ve appreciate zhis."

The call ended and Seras looked to her boss for instruction.

"Bach sent over some of their files, you should read them over."

"I'll do it during lunch."

"Make sure you eat this time," Integra ordered, a hint of concern in her usually stern voice.

"I know," it was easy be annoyed by her boss's fretting but Seras appreciated it.


They got a call the next morning saying that Günsche had arrived in London and already checked into a hotel, Bach sounded a little angry about it, making Seras suspect the detective had left without telling him.

If that was the right, she was going to have to ask how he had managed it.

Integra knocked on the door and a melodic voice called back.

"Just a second!" Hurried footsteps approached and a woman with purple hair and a big smile greeted them. "Hello, you must be Hellsing and Victoria, ve been expecting you," she ushered them inside. "My name's Rip, I'm Herr Günsche's- sorry, Mr. Günsche's caretaker und physical therapist."

"Nice to meet you," Seras said, trying not to laugh at how put off her boss was by the German's energy.

"Und you, but you're not here to see me." Rip led them through the sitting area, filled with boxes and a few suitcases, "please forgive zhe mess, ve're still unpacking und setting up."

They came to the bedrooms and she knocked on one of the doors, "zhey're here, can ve come in?"

"Ja," a male voice replied.

It was a decent sized room, it had to be to accommodate the sizable hospital bed, one side had medical equipment strewn along it while the other had computer towers. A laptop was by his side on the matress.

"Zhis…" Rip said, moving to the side of the man in the bed, "is Detective Johann Günsche."

"Call me Hans," he said, his rough voice sent the best kind of shiver down Seras' spine.

His upper body was propped stiffly against the raised end of the mattress while a white sheet covered his immobile legs. He was handsome though, a little tired and gaunt looking, but had a strong jaw and nose and hair that reminded Seras of snow.

"Vould anyvun like a drink?" Rip asked, but both Englishwomen declined. "Alright, I'll be in my room so I don't hear of your police talk, call if you need me."

She patted Hans' shoulder and left, humming softly, like this wasn't a murder investigation.

"We appreciate you coming, especially on such short noticed," Integra said.

"I'm happy to help," he didn't sound or look very happy, there was very little emotion in his voice, even less on his face.

He pulled the USB out of the laptop and held it up, "zhis is everything ve have on zhe Vampire."

"Thank you," Integra said as she took it, "I promise we'll try our hardest."

He looked to Seras, "zhis is your case zhen?"

She nodded. Oh, Lord, his eyes were a stunning bright blue.

"How old are you?"

She bristled, "twenty-six, I finished school early and went straight into the police."

Every time she met somebody new, they had the same reaction, it didn't help that she looked younger than she was. People didn't take her seriously at first; more than one person assumed that she had slept her way to detective. She had to work twice as hard to prove why she had earned her job.

She envied Integra, who looked older than she was, though that may have been from the stress of her work.

"Could I see the glasses?" She asked.

Wordlessly, he pointed to a small box on a cardboard one, inside was another pair of ordinary looking glasses with a dark, thick frame.

Hans unfolded the laptop, "could you put zhem on?"

They were lighter than she expected, but still heavy enough that she wouldn't forget that she was wearing them. Hans started typing on and she heard a very quiet beep from somewhere in the frame.

"Look around," he ordered.

Could have said please, she thought to herself, looking around the room.

"Put your hand in front of your face," he said, focusing on the screen.

This was going to get old fast.

"Looks good," he nodded.

"Bach said you spoke with the Vampire," Integra spoke up.

"Briefly."

"Is there anything you think we should know?"

"Before he shot me, I managed to stab him in zhe left knee, ve checked hospital records for the injury and didn't find anyvun, so he probably treated himself. Vhich should mean he has a limp."

"We got some footprints at the last crime scene," Seras told him, "that could confirm it."

Hans nodded, "and he said he wanted virgin's blood."

"Your reports said he killed and drained prostitutes," Integra interjected.

"I pointed zhat out, his vords vere, 'I didn't know it had to be virgin blood.'"

"Interesting," Seras mumbled to herself.

There was a soft buzzing sound from Integra's coat, her phone.

"Excuse me for a moment," she said, stepping out of the room and leaving Seras and Hans alone.

"How was your flight?" The Englishwoman asked after a moment of silence.

"Fine," he said.

And that was all he said. Seras took the hint and decided not ask anything else.

Finally, Integra came back, "both girls went to the same church."

"Which church?" Seras pressed, eager to go there right away, this could be huge.

"It's on Argyle Road, about twenty minutes from here."

Seras practically had a foot out the door.

"Yes, go," her boss said.

"I'll wear the glasses," she said to Hans as she left, tucking them back in their box.

The pair left behind heard her exchange goodbyes with Rip.

Integra glanced over at Hans just in time to catch the look on his face before he concealed it; envy.


Seras sat in her car outside the church, eyeing the glasses for a moment.

Technology was advancing so quickly, it was easy to get left behind, even by accident. There were people getting away with horrible crimes because the laws hadn't been updated to include these new advancements.

If police wanted to keep up with criminals, they needed to use the tech to their advantage, with that in mind; she put on the glasses and earpiece.

"Detective Günsche, are you there?"

"Yes."

"Is everything working?"

"Seems fine, can you hear me properly?"

"It's surprisingly clear."

"Good. I'll try to keep quiet unless I have to, don't vant to confuse you."

Seras stopped walking.

"Zhat sounded like an insult, didn't it?"

"A bit."

"Sorry."

She smiled a little; maybe he wasn't such a jerk, or at least not an intentional one.

Despite the large size of the old stone church, it was empty apart from a few nuns, though the death of two parishioners had probably scared people away.

"Excuse me," she said to an Asian nun, "is Father Anderson here?"

Wordlessly, the nun pointed to a door by the altar

She found the lone priest at his desk, door wide open.

"Come in," a harsh, Scottish voice said.

"Father Anderson?" She asked, holding up her badge. "I'm Detective Seras Victoria."

"You've come about the dead girls, I presume?"

"I have."

"Take a seat," he let out a long sigh, rubbing his hands over his face, "what do you want to know?"

She felt sorry for the priest; he looked like absolute Hell, no joke intended.

"How often did the girls and their families come here?" She pulled out her notepad and good pen.

"Every Sunday, at least, Sara helped run our youth service so she was here on Thursdays too. Yumie and Heinkel worked with them, they'd know more about it than me."

The priest poked his head out the door, calling for the pair.

"He's been coming here, hasn't he?" Anderson said, sitting back down. "I'm not an idiot; this can't be a coincidence."

"It's very likely," Seras answered, not wanting to lie. If the killer had been hunting at the church, she needed their cooperation.

The nun from before came in, followed by a very androgynous person wearing a priest's garb.

"Heinkel, Yumie," he pointed to each, "this is Detective Victoria, she's here about Sara and Naomi."

"Great," Heinkel said, "vhat are you going to do about it?"

"She's German," Hans suddenly piped up.

"Are you German?" Seras asked, the accent was noticeable but she would have picked it as German.

"Vhat does zhat have to do vith-"

"Answer the question," Anderson ordered, though he seemed confused too.

"Ja," it was said in the most condescending way possible.

"In the last three, four months, have any other German's come to the church?"

Logically, someone who had just immigrated would seek out people from their homeland.

"A few."

"Any vith a bad leg?" Hans asked, Seras repeated it.

Heinkel though for a moment, clearly wanting to be sure, but eventually said no.

Seras heard Hans growl into his microphone.

"So we're looking for a German with a bad leg?" Anderson guessed.

"He's a person of interest," Seras said, not wanting to say this was their lead suspect in case they took matters into their own hands. "If you see someone like that, please call me right away."

It didn't seem like they believed her, few people ever did.

"Over the last few months has there been anyone whose behavior has been off, maybe they paid too much attention-"

"I know you," Yumie said, finally speaking. "You shot those blasphemous nutters in Birmingham."

Though it was impossible, Seras could have sworn she heard Hans' ears perk up.

"Yes, that was me," she confessed.

"Good riddance," the nun said, "I hope you kill this one too."

"Here, here," Heinkel agreed.

"Stop that," Anderson warned them, though it didn't sound like he disagreed, just that he didn't want it voiced in front of an outsider.

Seras just ignored the comment, "maybe they paid too much attention to the younger women or were inappropriate?"


"At least they know what to look for now," Seras said once she was outside, trying to be positive.

"If he knows ve're onto him, he'll change hunting grounds," Hans pointed out.

"We already put out a press conference," the blonde sighed. "If he's smart, he already has."

"Forensics finished vith zhe footprints from zhe second crime scene," he said, as if to cheer her up.

"They called you?"

"No, I'm in zhe database."

"I probably shouldn't ask this, but is that legal?"

There was a pause, "sorry, I can't hear you."

She didn't press the subject. "Wait, does that include my personnel files?"

Her entire history was in those, from before and after she joined the police, there were things in them she didn't want anyone to see, ever.

"Zhey're on here, but I von't read zhem," he promised and, despite her fears, she believed him. "Do you vant to come back to zhe hotel or go to zhe station?"

"You're closer," was her answer as she started walking back to her car.

"So, who vere zhe blasphemous nutters in Birmingham?"

"It was a pair of teenagers who got high and went on a killing spree, I happened to be there," she said dismissively. "The media made a big deal out of it."

It was the first time she'd ever killed someone and sixteen people had already died, it didn't seem like something that should be celebrated.

"Alright," he said quietly, dropping the subject.


Rip's greeted her again with an impossibly huge smile.

"Velcome back, I'm afraid zhe mess got vorse vhile you vere gone."

"You're unpacking, it's expected," Seras assured.

"How vas zhe church? Am I allowed to ask about zhat?"

"No leads," she answered.

The German frowned; it looked strange on her usually happy face.

Hans was typing rapidly when they came in, he barely glanced at them

"I don't like zhat resting on your legs," Rip said, suddenly turning professional, "first thing tomorrow; I'm getting a table for it."

"God forbid something happens to my legs," Hans scoffed.

Rip didn't laugh; she just scowled at him and left the two to their work.

"What are you up to?" Seras asked.

"Looking at immigration records," he explained.

"How…" she was afraid to ask, "how did you get those?"

"I can't hear you," he repeated his words from earlier.

Seras sighed, at this rate she was going to be an accessory to… something, "you do remember that if we catch him, we have to explain how."

"I put zhe request through already and zhey said it vould take a few days."

He noticed her disapproval.

"At zhe moment I'm just looking and narrowing down zhe list to save time for vhen I do get it."

"Cases can get thrown out on the smallest of loopholes," she reminded him.

"I know, I'm being careful," he promised, and she found herself believing him again.

"So, what sort of numbers are we looking at?"

He grimaced, "couple of hundred thousand."

"Jesus."

"At least," he added.

"Alright," Seras said, combing her fingers through her hair. "What about the foot prints?"

He waved her to his side so she could see the computer screen, "Zhe steps are even."

"No limp?"

"No limp," the muscles in his jaw clenched.

"Hold on," Seras said, leaning in, "the shoe size is different."

"Huh," she was right, "smaller."

The blonde started pacing, the cogs in her head turning, "doesn't drug them, probably because it would taint the blood… He overpowers them physically, quickly enough that no one sees it… He couldn't do that with a bad leg."

Hans watched her, curious and hypnotized.

"So how is he doing it?"

They were both thinking the same thing, but neither wanted to say it, afraid it would be true.

"He's found a friend," Hans finally said.

Killer's teaming up wasn't unheard of, but it certainly wasn't common.

"One distracts the victim so the other can sneak up on her," Seras brainstormed.

"Or vun drives zhe car up so zhey can get avay quicker," there were a dozen ways it could be done.

"We need some kind of evidence if I'm going to share this idea with my boss."

"Zhe kills here are exactly zhe same as zhey vere in Germany, down to zhe size and shape of incisions to drain zhe blood," Hans pointed out. "I vouldn't be surprised if he brought zhe tools vith him."

"Do you know what tools he uses?" There had been some debate about that at work.

"Medical tubing and something to suck as much blood out as possible?"

"Like a machine?"

"Maybe."

"Something like that can't be common or cheap."

"I'll do some research," he started typing again.

"Knock, knock," Rip said, as she actually knocked on the door. "Hi," she said to Seras, "do you know any good take out near here?"

"A few," back when she started this job it was pretty much all she ate.

"Good, 'cause ve don't have much food here." Her face lit up, "ve should try fish and chips!"

The sudden shouting made Seras step backwards, "there's a pretty good place on King Street."

"I think I saw zhat vhen ve came in," Hans said, "vith zhe big blue neon fish?"

"That's it."

"You have to stay for dinner zhen," Rip insisted.

"Sure," Seras was afraid to say no.

"I don't think zhis counts as 'traditional English food,'" Hans pointed out.

"Meh," Rip dismissed, grinning at Seras, "besides, zhis'll give us a chance to chat."

"Great," the blonde replied, a little scared.

As his caretaker left, Hans smiled sympathetically, "she takes some getting used to, but she's a sveetheart."

"No, I like her, she just so…"

"Enthusiastic?"

He nodded, "but it's good for people like us; you think I'm grumpy now? You should have seen me before her."

"People like us?"

He hesitated, looking for the right words, "people who've seen a lot of bad."

"I suppose that's one way to put it."

"The simplest way," he said, starting to type again.


When she got home after dinner there was still some time before she needed to go to bed, so Seras started looking over the new German files that Hans had given her.

Like most murderers, the Vampire had started with prostitutes and the homeless, back then he drained the blood by crudely slicing open the main arteries. When he moved up to taxi drivers the method started becoming cleaner, eventually developing into his current style.

The evolution of a serial killer.

The file about his attack on Hans was in there too; every now and then she glanced at it, debating if she should read it. He had promised not to look at her files… but this was different.

She decided to leave it alone, for now at least.


God, he was sick of hospitals, as if the nine weeks unconscious in one weren't bad enough they made him stay after that (not that he had the ability to leave). And when they did release him, he constantly had to return.

Back home there had been a doctor who joked, every time they saw each other, that it must be good to get of the house, so far Hans had resisted the urge to punch him in the face, but it was probably best that they wouldn't see each other for a while.

"How are you feeling?" Rip asked, walking beside him like a worried mother.

"Fine," he promised, knowing that if she saw even a hint of fatigue she would insist on pushing him. The wheelchair was pretty much the only exercise he got, he wasn't giving it up.

The trip had been a waste of time; the doctor hadn't told him anything new, blah, blah, T4 vertebrae injury. Blah, blah, chances of full recovery slim but not impossible. Blah, blah, long, hard road ahead.

It was almost word for word what his Doctor in Germany had said.

"Slow down," Rip said, now jogging to keep up.

"Sorry," he muttered.

"You know Big Ben's near here, we should go see it."

That was why she brought her camera.

"We've got a few hours before Seras comes over, and you need something to take your mind off… things."

Things being the case and his paralysis, as far as Rip knew, those were the only two things he ever thought about, and a few days ago she would have been right. But lately, his thoughts kept wandering to Seras Victoria. He wasn't an idiot or a child; he knew what that meant, but he was here to work; he couldn't get distracted by a beautiful woman.

"Alright," he relented and Rip beamed, which cheered him up. He could never truly repay her but he could try to make her happy.

That smile on her face was a start.


Meet me at 1000

That was the text that woke Seras up at six in the morning, no details about the meeting place or anything to indicate who had sent it, but she knew.

She walked into the, mostly empty, bar at exactly ten o'clock. Less than five steps past the door, a slim man with a braid approached her.

"Hey, Mignonette," he said warmly.

"Hi, Pip," she didn't quite return the warmth, but the animosity from a few months earlier was gone.

"How are you?" He asked as he took her waistcoat.

"Fine," that was always her answer.

"You look tired," he noted, concerned rather than critical.

"Gee, thanks," she glanced out at the tables, looking for her rendezvous.

"You know I zon't mean it like zhat," he took her hand gently to get her attention, "contrary to popular belief, I vorry about you."

She squeezed his hand appreciatively, but pulled hers away, "I know. Is he here yet?"

"Yeah, vhich reminds me, vhy do you keep meeting him here?"

"He likes it here."

"No," the Frenchman disagreed, "he likes torturing me."

"How does he torture you?"

"He keeps giving me zhis look like he's going to kill me."

"He looks at almost everyone like that," Seras dismissed, finally spotting the familiar red coat in a booth.

"And zhat doesn't concern you?"

"Not really," Alucard just seemed to enjoy it when people were scared of him.

As always, he was immaculately dressed, black hair messy but somehow perfect. Even while in hiding from the Romanian mafia, he looked better than everyone else.

"Police Girl," he greeted.

She sighed at the old nickname, but asking him to stop was a waste of breath.

"How are you?" She sat across from him.

"Same as usual," he answered, "I heard you've gotten a very prolific case."

"How? Aren't you supposed to be in hiding?"

He shrugged, probably just to irritate her.

"What do you have for us?" She sighed again. Of all the police in London he chose her to be his contact.

"Some details about a drug shipment coming in. Not your department, but your superior could use it." He pulled a USB from inside his gaudy red coat, a small smirk on his handsome face, "how is she?"

"Busy," Seras gave him the same answer every time he asked.

"Did she like my flowers?"

Oh, that was him, people had been wondering about that.

"… She threw them out the window," the detective answered honestly.

But he just laughed.

Seras didn't know what was going on between her boss and the informant and, quite frankly, she didn't want to know, but it was certainly entertaining to watch.

"I don't suppose you have anything that could help with my prolific case?" She asked half seriously. "Your country is kind of infamous for blood drinking."

He gave her an unimpressed look, taking a sip of his red wine, as if contemplating. "How does he treat the bodies?"

"He doesn't dump them carelessly, but he doesn't take the time to position them."

"What does that tell you?"

"That the blood is his goal, but he is grateful to them for it."

It might sound like he was leading her, but he just wanted to hear her opinion.

"Why those girls?

"They were virgin's so… maybe he considers their blood to be pure."

The criminal began swirling the liquid in his glass; usually it meant he was thinking.

"There's an old, old myth that only virgins could become vampires."

"But that-" Seras tried to interrupt, but he spoke over her.

"It's frequently mistranslated to English as the blood of a virgin makes you a vampire."

"Really?" It was hard to tell when he was sincere and when he was just fucking with people.

"Look it up."

The waitress, who must have been new because Seras didn't recognize her, came over with two plates of food.

"Did you order for me?" The blonde asked.

"You have a bad habit of skipping meals when a case gets tough, Police Girl" he reminded her, cutting his steak. "Integra worries."

"Does she?" Seras said wryly, starting on her chicken.


"And heave," Rip groaned, helping lift Hans onto his bed. His arms could bear some of the weight but he couldn't do it alone.

And, God, he was heavy.

Once he was mostly on the mattress it was much easier, some shuffling and her positioning his legs.

"I really should get a weight belt for my back," she joked, hoping to get a smile out of him. "Or maybe put you on a diet."

He either wasn't paying attention or wasn't in the mood to pretend to laugh.

Before he was even settled, he was checking his computer to see if any of the scans had gotten results.

"I know I'm probably wasting my breath," Rip said, "but will you at least consider talking to the therapist?"

"There's no point, a shrink isn't going to tell me anything new."

"It's a good way to vent," she tried, "you don't have a lot of outlets these days, and do you think I haven't notice how obsessed you are with work?"

"Of course I am," he hissed, "there's nothing else I can do."

"See, that attitude is exactly what worries me."

"I'm sorry," he said, rubbing his jaw, "but right now, catching this lunatic has to be my priority, when he's in jail I will worry about myself."

"That's not healthy, you're smart, you know that."

He looked down at his useless legs, "the worse has already happened so-"

There was a knock at the door, probably Seras.

"This isn't over," Rip warned, leaving him to mull on her words.

He was fine; he had accepted his situation and had no delusions, he was going to continue his physical therapy and make the best of this… nightmare, starting with devoting his time to stopping the bastard who had crippled him.

He was fine.

The women chatted as they approached, it was mostly Rip who spoke but every time he heard Seras' voice his stomach twisted.

'You're thirty,' he reminded himself, 'you're not a teenager anymore.'

But he felt as awkward as one when she walked into the room.

"Oh, Rip got that table," she noticed.

The caretaker had been busy; the computer towers were now organized neatly against the wall and there was a table on wheels positioned over his lap.

"Hmm," Hans said, distracting himself by checking how a few of his scans were doing.

"I heard you saw Big Ben," she tried to make conversation, "how was it?"

"Big," he replied curtly.

He felt like an utter ass when she looked at her feet, no longer smiling.

Goddamnit, he was being rude again. Seemed to be the only way he could communicate these days.

"Sorry," he rubbed his chin, "I just…" there was no excuse, he'd been raised better than that. "I'm sorry."

"That's alright," she said.

"It's not, but thank you."

They didn't linger on it, preferring to get to their work.

"Have you heard an old, Romanian myth that only virgins could become vampires?"

"I have not."

"Apparently, it frequently gets mistranslated to 'the blood of a virgin makes you a vampire.'"

"Interesting," his eyes lit up and he started typing again, looking for the myth. "Vhere did you hear zhat?"

"A friend of mine is into that stuff, he mentioned it," she couldn't tell him that a former hitman turned mob boss turned informant had told her over brunch at her ex-boyfriends bar. "You said it sounded like he had a goal, maybe this is it."

"It's possible," he said, typing yet again, "somevun like zhat must have raised red flags."

He had done a similar search, but for the more traditional type of vampirism.

"What are you doing?" She asked, leaning over his the mattress, there were some words in German and a little blue bar that she assumed indicated how much of the scan was done.

"It's straightforward, put in some key vords, zhis scans criminal records and psychiatric files for zhem," he explained, "and I'm actually allowed to look at zhese."

She laughed lightly, it was melodic to him.

"You can sit down if you vant," he offered, using his eyes to gesture at the mattress.

It was a big bed (it had to be, Hans was quite tall), but Seras found herself sticking to the edge, he was still really a stranger to her and she didn't want him to be uncomfortable.

"How long does this take?"

"It depends on how much data there is to go through, sometimes days."

"Your English is very good," she complimented.

"Thank you, I learnt in high school, and I've had free time to practice lately," he said with a hint of humor.

"I took French in high school, I'm still fairly fluent," thanks to Pip

Hans didn't look impressed, "I knew a hundred idiots who learned French to pick up vomen."

"I just wanted extra credit," she smiled, holding up her hands defensively.

"I heard you graduated early, joined zhe police at seventeen."

"I thought you didn't read my file."

"Hellsing told me, sounded like she vas bragging."

"Well…" she said sheepishly, "your boss was pretty proud too."

"Bach likes to take credit for recruiting me," he looked at his legs and added bitterly, "I really owe him."

"What did you want to do instead?"

He shrugged, "vhat about you, vhy zhe police?"

She was quiet and for a minute he thought she would avoid the question.

"My dad was a policeman."

He didn't miss the way she said was.

"What do your parents do?"

Hans chuckled, smiling wide enough to show teeth.

"What?"

"Ve both keep trying to not talk about ourselves for too long."

"Maybe I'm shy."

He gave her a look that said bullshit, "maybe I'm boring."

"Bor-" She pointed at his computer, "you hack into government files."

"You stare down criminals and interview complete strangers."

"That's at work."

"So is zhis," now he pointed at the computer.

"Stop arguing!" Rip yelled from the other room.

The pair looked towards the door guiltily, unaware they had been talking so loudly, but when they glanced at each other they started snickering like teenagers at the back of a classroom. Her nose crinkled adorably and Hans felt his stomach twisting again.

Rip stepped through the doorway, "vhy are you two fighting?"

She glared accusingly at Hans, moving towards him.

"Don't look at the computer," he said so quickly that he forgot English.

She quickly covered her eyes with her hand and turned away.

"Vhy?"

"Crime scene pictures," he explained, minimizing them.

She backed out of the room, "you be nice."

"Yes, Mother," he called after her.

"That was a little extreme, don't you think?" Seras said, "I understand wanting to keep details about the case private but-"

"No, zhe pictures give her nightmares."

Seras looked at him, surprised, then tenderly. "I didn't think you were such a softie."

His face scrunched up, Seras' chest started to shake from repressed laughter.

"Take zhat back," he warned, acting serious but not meaning it.

Maybe it was the stress of the case, but suddenly she was feeling playful, "make me."

"I vas shot in zhe head," he boasted, "zhey don't have a vord in English for how tough I am."

The playful mood evaporated, "you were shot in the head?"

He nodded, a little confused, "didn't you read the file?"

"You didn't read mine, I felt guilty," she admitted, "like I was invading your privacy."

He laughed, it was the first time she had heard him do so, it was deep and rather soothing. "I appreciate zhat, but mine's different, you have my permission to read it."

"Then I suppose I have to," her eyes studied his face, looking for traces of the injury.

"Here," when she scooted close enough he took her hand and pressed her fingers to his scalp, above his ear.

Under his hair she could feel the raised skin, a scar.

"It got lodged," he explained, not letting go of her hand, "if it had gone through I vould have died."

People said he was lucky, most of the time he disagreed.

Her fingertips traced the circle gently, goosebumps prickled up his arms.

"You must have a thick skull."

"Vomen tell me zhat a lot." He joked, suddenly feeling very exposed. "Have you ever been shot?"

"Twice," it was something she rarely told anyone, her heart was pounding and she wasn't sure why. "Not on the same day."

"I don't think I'm using zhe right vord, but it really sucks."

"It's not the wrong word, but you could pick a better one."

Rip watched from the doorway, knowing she had to speak up and ruin the moment, she hated herself for it.

"Detective Victoria?"

Seras jumped back from the bed, cheeks red. Hans rubbed under his nose to hide his own blush.

"Your phone keeps buzzing," Rip finished.

"Probably my boss," she said, rushing past the German and not missing the sly smirk she was directing at Hans.

Six missed calls, and she wasn't optimistic enough to think it was good news.

Integra picked up on the first ring, "you need to come in, right now, someone's here claiming to be our murderer."


To be continued…