I swear I don't know where this came from.

Alucard, Anderson, and a goodly portion of my soul belong to Kouta Hirano.

Second chapter, from the beginning of the story in Alucard's POV. Make sense? Er, I didn't think so.

Chocolate and pretty flowers to everyone who's reviewed! After all, I don't know what impact my stories have or lack unless you tell me. Non- reviewers will be tackled, tied up, and forced to read this over and over and over again until they find something to say. No wait. I mean, non- reviewers will be given cookies for just dropping by to see what this is.

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It's not like me to choose another vampire's leftovers. But he's of a very rare breed. I couldn't let him become dust before I knew him better.

Is there anything I don't know about him now?

And how could he not notice? I've only gone to that effort with Integra. . . what do I need to do, have him write up a quiz about himself so he can realize what a devoted student I am?

Student? Well, scientist. I've learned so much from my pet experiment. After all, he and my master are quite similar: strong in their faith, devoted and principled, fanatic in their drives to complete their missions. I understand Integra far more clearly now that I've dissected him.

I hang up the pay phone and move. I am outside his door a moment later. I wish I could tell Integra about this struggle, but she still can't understand.

I want her to know.

Perhaps I could move ahead of her through her nightly routine, have everything prepared just a breath in advance, show her how familiar I am with who she is.

I hear him breathing inside. I knock. He opens the door. His green eyes aren't tired. They look defeated, done. I turn away, trying not to bring to mind how he looked when he was fighting me. And I also hide a flash of fury that would only send him deep into himself. I don't want to have to do this to Integra! There must be another way.

I can't think about it now. The wreck that I have caused needs me.

I wish I didn't feel this. . . pity. I don't want to pity him. I admired him too much as an enemy and I admire him too much now, when he's so resistant to falling to his knees and he needs so much to break and have done with it.

I was curious. . . if I were to let harm overtake my master to the point where she couldn't control me, and then give her the smallest bit of my blood-not enough to make her my ghoul, but enough to make her want more- would that draw her to me? I can't do that to my master, but this human was so like her that he could show me.

Now I know. Yes, but no. There is no way that I could do this to her. Doing it to my enemy is bad enough. If I give Anderson too much more of my blood, he'll be my ghoul. And he still won't ask me for it. I've gotten more fond of him for that. I appreciate fighters. I contemplate the little dream that's come to me recently. He'd make the perfect counterpart to Seras, the best of foils to Integra. Oh, and imagine what hysterics the Vatican would have. . .

I can't smell his fear in the air as I prepare. Just despair. And he gives an odd little smile that actually affects me. If he'd just-

"No. I'm not giving in."

His voice is flat to me. I step in, place a small, pinching bite far from the vein. He doesn't move, doesn't respond, and it causes a twinge of fear that somehow I just finished off the remainders of his sanity. I step back immediately.

"Trade me places." I've done this much to him; I may as well give him a rest. I'll be the living one sensing my mortality. He can be the strong one.

"My perspective is getting dull," he answers flatly.

Dull? Well, dead is the word I would use. But the only thing that comes to mind is a challenge. "Show me anyway."

"I'd rather it was you bleeding." And I can sense need radiating from the cold place in his mind I've created, the place where there used to be hate. He's speaking pure truth. I open his shirt quickly while he's still in almost a trance. I part the skin. And blood flows. I feel him relax. When he finally chooses to take my blood, he remembers my warning against drawing too much. And I can pull him in, take over his fears and let him share my power.

He doesn't want to stop. I feel something in the fabric of his mind start to tear as I try to stop him. And then I say the right word and he recalls his control, restores his distance. I keep my hands on him, as though trying to hold him together. I could almost laugh at what he's become, if I hadn't taken him along his descent. I hold him instead, grateful for the warmth of his blood in my body, hoping that I'm helping him to surrender rather than break.

He's drifting now, collecting himself after his plunge into my mind. His fingers absently find the ends of my mane, flicking them annoyingly against my neck. I say his name, trying to recall him, tugging my hair away with a thought.

"You can have my blood," I promise carefully. It is the first time I have offered to keep him. He probably guessed I would. He knows I care for what is mine. "But you have to understand--"

"I know the cost. My blood." His eyes are murky with grief.

I hush him softly, barely realizing I'm holding our heads together. "What do you choose?"

While I wait to see if he's finally going to follow me over the edge, I wonder how I thought Integra might ever depend on me this much. Hatred made him incautious.

I wrap him in a careful embrace as I realize: perhaps I didn't really need to do this. Perhaps all that I need is to create the illusion that she depends on me. I wonder how I can weave this idea into the dance between myself and my master.

A faint sound recalls my attention. I tilt my head back, watching. He can't reply yet. I know the answer is coming. Muscles are clenched all the way up his back, holding his shoulders rigid. His face is a grimace telling of too much pain to be withheld for long.

I'm patient. I'll wait.

After all, I've been waiting all Integra's life for her answer.