Today is Thanksgiving in the U.S., so it's time to express some thanks.

Thank you for the reviews, alerts, and favorites! Thank you all who are reading this story! Thank you for your patience and support!

Over 100 reviews?! I hadn't been keeping track until someone pointed it out. Thank you again! ^_^

Please read, review, and enjoy! :)

I do not own Hellsing.

"Where are we going?" Amelia asked the cat-boy in front of her, suspicious that he alone had come to collect her.

The youth's response was a grunt of exertion, his hands tightening around her left arm as his muscles strained to drag her along. With no extra security around to intimidate or coerce her into submission, Amelia was digging her heels in. At least there was someone whose job she could make more difficult.

"Why. Won't. You. Move?" Each syllable was accompanied by a tug.

Because I'm stronger and I don't want to go wherever you are trying to take me. The unspoken answer made Amelia consider the teenager with a serious expression. A head shorter and rather skinny, Schrödinger's effort—although a bit dramatic— should have been enough to move her.

After a few seconds, she let herself be pulled a couple of steps.

A loud, relieved sigh was passing through Schrödinger's lips when she stopped again, jerking her escort back. He really can't move me. Amelia watched the boy struggle to no avail. Yesterday I broke free from the wall… This strength isn't mine; I've never had a muscular physique—I don't have one now! Giving a sharp tug, she freed her wrist from the cat-boy's clutches.

"Just wait a moment," she mumbled, inspecting the red marks on her wrist where the teenager had been holding on. "I can walk on my own."

Schrödinger's fists landed on his hips as he huffed resentfully, his posture making him look more childish than threatening. It was easier to return the glare of a youth ready to throw a tantrum.

This must be what Doc was talking about when he said I would start showing symptoms of being—

"If you don't hurry up, then I'll have no choice but to call the Captain." Schrödinger interrupted her thoughts.

You'll have to go off and tell them you couldn't bring me on your own.

"Right."

"I will," he went on. "And he won't have to lift a finger to get you to come along."

Amelia didn't move, unconvinced.

"I warned you," Schrödinger announced, turning his back to her but looking over his shoulder to watch. Several seconds passed and he was still with her.

"Why didn't he come with you this time – the Captain?"

Schrödinger tensed slightly and twisted to face front, clasping his hands behind his back and lifting his head slightly as if suggesting the importance, the profoundness of the words that would follow. "Everyone is busy."

I should have known that sort of answer was coming.

"Busy?" Schrödinger was more loquacious than others, and with a little luck, she might be able to use that to her advantage.

"Preparations…"

"The Captain's not here." It was a guess, but if she acted like she knew it was true…

"He's busy too." The teenager skirted around answering her specific question and went on talking before she could speak again. "So if you won't move," he spun around to face her, folding his arms across his chest, "I have no other option but to carry you there myself."

For a split second there was silence as a mental image of the cat-boy trying to carry her up a flight of stairs graced Amelia's thoughts. Her mouth pulled up into a smile, and a short, "Haha!" burst out before her hand restrained the rest. She turned away, surprised, and not completely comprehending the reasoning behind the secretive action. It felt so relieving to laugh, even if it lasted only an instant. But as the moment of humor passed, she was left with a sense of wrongness.

This isn't the place to laugh. These aren't the people to laugh with—or at. After all they've done, how can I?

When Amelia dared looked back, she saw Schrödinger had gone rigid, his hair standing on end and his ears pointing at the ceiling. He had probably made the comment in all earnestness.

Hesitantly, she lowered her hand from her mouth. The laughter was gone, and with it, her smile.

A frown slowly formed as she watched emotion manipulate Schrödinger's features. Pressing his lips tightly together and squinting at her with bright eyes, he did a poor job of keeping the self-satisfaction to himself.

What have I done?

"What's wrong with your face, Schrödinger?"

Sensing Doc glance her way as she entered the room, Amelia decided to avoid eye contact, giving an evasive shrug and wishing Schrödinger would drop his gloating smile. He wasn't that funny.

On her left were a couple of windows looking into an adjacent room, and further down, a sturdy-looking door. A long table was beside the doctor, its surface cleared save for a small pile of noise-cancelling headphones. She stopped walking, her gaze drawn to the rows of shelves occupying the rest of the space that she could see. Boxes were stacked on each level, most of them large and unopened.

"Come," Doc beckoned her further into the room. Amelia silently complied, glancing warily through the windows as she passed.

"Aaaaaahh," squealed a feminine voice on her right.

Amelia stilled at the sound, having not realized that another person was in the room.

Tall, slim, and wearing a giddy grin, a woman fully emerged from around the corner of the first shelf, prancing around Schrödinger and up to Amelia, a musket balanced against one shoulder and a pistol in her other hand. "This is the little Harker!" The woman's blue eyes widened as she gasped. "She is so young!"

Continuing to smile and chuckling happily, she circled Amelia. "Ooooh, so cute!"

If Amelia hadn't known otherwise, she would have thought the purple-suited woman was fawning over an infant.

"But what is this?" The woman pouted. "You cut her hair, Doctor?"

Blushing in spite of herself, Amelia looked bewilderedly at Doc, waiting for a rational explanation for the woman in front of her. "She's not going to hurt you unless you try something foolish. Now come over here."

For once, Amelia was grateful for the doctor's summoning, and she made sure to give the woman a wide berth as she walked around her to get to the no-less creepy but supposedly more sound-minded scientist.

"That was good!" Even with the noise-cancelling headphones, Amelia could hear every comment made by the woman behind her. Lowering the gun and looking over her shoulder, she saw mixed expressions from the spectators.

The Lieutenant—Schrödinger once used the name van Winkle—was nodding in approval. She was always smiling when Amelia glanced in her direction, and very much like Schrödinger in that she seemed incapable of watching quietly. Beside her, the cat-boy settled a hand along his eyebrows, blocking the glare of an imaginary sun as he squinted at the printed targets on the far wall. Doc, sitting in a folding chair with one hand engulfing the lower half of his face, was unreadable.

"It's empty," said Amelia, holding the weapon away from her with a delicate grip and hoping it would not be reloaded and handed back again. Almost two hours had passed with an unending pattern: shoot, reload, shoot, get a new gun.

The Lieutenant skipped forward and took the gun from her, looking questioningly at Doc as Schrödinger put in his bit. Amelia only heard the end of it as she pulled off her head phones. "—hitting them now."

Doc stood up, collecting the used targets at his feet. "Your accuracy certainly improved…" It was only natural that opening her eyes when pulling the trigger helped her results. In the last hour she had fared better still, after every flinch of anticipation preceding the recoil became less pronounced. After she realized that there could come a time in the near future when she needed to use a gun. "I'll see if there's anything we can do about precision," continued the man, tucking the papers under one arm.

"Time for another blood sample, Miss Harker." He turned to the Lieutenant and nodded, and she hurried out of the room with the guns, humming a tune with a lively tempo.

What about food? Amelia thought as she followed Doc's gesture to exit the room, replacing her headphones on the table. She had barely touched yesterday's dinner, and now that she had been awake for a few hours, she realized how hungry she was. Something I can look forward to, aside from—. She hesitated for her second as she stepped into the hall, the pause going unseen by the doctor, who had taken the lead, but noticeable to the teenager beside her. When Schrödinger looked her way, she returned his questioning gaze, pretending she didn't know why he was staring.

The uneven clacking of heels against the floor briefly drew her gaze over her shoulder. The Lieutenant had returned, skipping towards them with a musket bouncing against her shoulder. When Amelia was certain the weapon wouldn't be pointed at her, she faced front again.

The book. Oh my God, how could I forget about the diary?! Was it still in the pillowcase when I woke up? She hadn't checked. Berating herself, she worried the rest of the way to the lab.

"Take a seat," Doc said as they entered. Without giving the instruction much thought, Amelia headed straight for the chair. Having repeated this scenario several times now, she was growing accustomed to the uncomfortable prick of the needle following every study or experiment.

Still fretting over the diary, she did not pay any mind to the rapid footsteps approaching her from behind, or realize that the feline male was no longer at her side. It wasn't until she began to fall forward, feeling a force exerted against her back that she realized she was being tackled. Inhaling sharply from the impact, she tightened every muscle and swung one leg forward, stamping her front foot against the tile and spreading her arms in hopes of stabilizing her center of gravity. It worked just in time.

What on earth…? Wrapped around her waist was a pair of scrawny arms, and attached to them, a sheepish Schrödinger, his legs splayed over the ground and his hold on her keeping him upright.

"Heh… You're not going to fall?"

Amelia's mouth opened and closed a few times before any words came out. "W-what are you doing? Get off!" Grabbing the waistline of her pants with one hand to make sure it didn't slip down, she gave the boy's shoulder a shove.

Schrödinger unlocked his arms and hastily picked himself up off the floor as though he feared being stepped on. "Don't get mad at me! Doc told me to."

Amelia looked at the doctor. His expression was not bold; it was small and hopeful. But it was definitely the beginning of a grin. The Lieutenant had her jaw tightly clenched, and held her musket in both hands, close to her chest.

Following the direction of the freckled woman's stare, Amelia gaze travelled down her front leg to her foot, settled nicely into the cracked tiles.

Oh.

There was a tense pause as she extracted her foot and checked the sole of her shoe for any punctures. Thank goodness she was wearing shoes.

"… Sorry." Not that she felt particularly bad about the floor, but what was she supposed to say?

To her relief and discomfort, no one spoke.

Stepping carefully around the ruined tiles, Amelia made it to the chair without further incident. Sitting herself down, she folded her hands in her lap, fingers curling and uncurling.

What have I done?