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I do not own Hellsing.

Without bothering to check and see if she was being watched, Amelia grabbed her pillow and reached down into the cover, searching for the journal.

It's… The tension left her. Still here.

Dropping heavily onto the side of the bed, she removed the slender book and flipped through the pages to the first entry. The scribbles hadn't magically translated themselves into a form of writing she could understand as she wished. It was never that easy.

He doesn't leave any hints about how to interpret this, either, she frowned as she came to the last page. It is a journal, so I suppose no one other than him should be reading it. I wonder how Doc managed?

Amelia shut the book and looked up at the open door. Doc had left the lab, Schrödinger disappeared in his usual yet uncharacteristically quiet manner, and somewhere beyond the curtain, the Lieutenant was on guard duty. For the first time in a while, she was left to spend her time as she pleased—which was strange, considering she had just added a nice hole in the floor.

Maybe there's a translation on the shelf that I missed. She got off the bed and tip-toed to the door, cautiously brushing the curtain aside.

The freckled woman was on her left, balancing on one leg and skillfully rolling her weapon over her wrist. The moment she saw her poised by the door, the woman caught the musket in her opposite hand and lowered her other foot onto the floor, standing at attention. After a second, she flashed a sharp-toothed grin that Amelia was too nervous to return.

A twitch pulled at the corner of her mouth, and Amelia turned away from her oblivious tormentor to tread softly to the bookshelves. I'll pull out every book if I have to. It was a daunting task given the number in Doc's possession.

Useless. There are books in multiple languages, dictionaries and translated texts from Greek and Russian sources, but not one work on interpreting shorthand. How can there be nothing?! Amelia sat crossed-legged in front of the last shelf, staring at the spines of the books that could not help her. She had been searching for at least two hours; hours of wasted effort.

Someone must know. For the sixth time, she turned over every page in the journal. Someone here can read this. Stretching her stiff neck, she looked down the long row of bookshelves in the direction of her room.

A song echoed faintly, its lyrics incomprehensible and sound, haunting.

I don't want to… She was tired now that nothing was happening, and the fact that she had not found a translation merely worsened her sinking mood. There was only one person she could talk to since the doctor had yet to return.

Just ask! Her hands felt clammy, and she dropped the book in her lap to wipe them on her pants. You have to ask someone! You were questioning Doc and Schrödinger earlier. It may take a few tries, but… Just try. She took a deep breath as she stood up and walked back through the shelves, towards her room. To the Lieutenant.

The song faded into silence. Cradling her weapon, the woman in purple smiled at Amelia when she came closer, rocking back and forth on her heels. "Hmmm, yes?" Her eyes were already questioning the book.

"Um, I was wondering if you can read this?" Amelia fumbled with the journal, opening it to a filled page and cautiously holding it out for the woman to see. "It's shorthand, I think…"

Resisting the urge to pull away when the Lieutenant shifted closer for a better view, she focused on holding the book steady.

"Aaaaaaaah, no," the woman gave a musical, disappointed sigh and looked at Amelia. "I did not learn this." Sticking out a finger, she flipped the page. Her voice rose in pitch to sound more encouraging. "But, perhaps Doc can? You know he is so smart!" Another smile.

"R-right." Amelia glanced around the room, thinking how convenient it would be if the doctor stepped in at that moment.

"I am sure he can help."

I don't doubt that he can; it's more a question of whether he will or not. He started getting suspicious when I asked questions last night. She shut the book. "Do you know when he'll be back?"

"Later today, I'm sure. He usually wants blood samples around supper," she chuckled; 'Silly, don't you remember?' How disturbing.

"Oh. Yes… Thank you."

The woman hummed cheerily as if she found Amelia's uncertainty endearing. "You are welcome."

Amelia began to move away, but paused as a troubling thought crossed her mind.

"Oh, and, um, do you know where I can get paper and a pencil? Something to write with?" She finally looked directly at the Lieutenant and held up the journal. "For this?"

In case Doc says 'no'?

Amelia let her chin drop onto her pillow as she stared with half-lidded eyes at the journal and her notes scattered on the floor in front of her. Sore eyes and a waning attention span meant it was time to take a break.

This isn't working… I need to figure out something else… Do I even need this journal? She groaned softly. Well, it would help, somehow. It must have been on Doc's shelf for some reason. And I have a feeling that that reason has to do with vampires, Dracula—Alucard? Why did the name change?

Sliding one of the sheets of paper covered in her thoughts and guesses closer, she picked it up to reread the first couple of lines, crumpled the paper, reconsidered, and opened it, smacking it on the ground with her palm in frustration as she tried to flatten it out again. Just in case.

Amelia sighed and pulled her hand away. I'm fortunate enough that the Lieutenant gave me these supplies. I don't think Doc would have done so; he'd probably suspect me of attempting to get a message outside. Does that make the Lieutenant an idiot? She glanced at the green curtain doing a fair job of muffling the operatic singing. Wishful thinking. I'm sure it was me who looked like an idiot out there.

She lifted her head from the pillow, feeling a twinge of discomfort in her neck and shoulders. Is that why she gave me pen and paper? What threat could I possibly pose when I'm shy, uncomfortable, timid, and I don't know anything…

Amelia pushed herself up off her stomach and into a sitting position. All of that's true, but, but… She crossed her arms tightly and shut her eyes, trying to concentrate without the Lieutenant distracting her. Doc got suspicious after I started being nosy yesterday. Schrödinger was the same—surprisingly—because he was the one who told me I was going to fight with Zorin before I heard anything about it from Doc. The Captain wanted me to hand over the journal, and I said it belonged to my family, so…that's why he didn't take it? The Lieutenant let me have what I asked for when I told her what I wanted to do and looked pathetic… I don't know if that's pity, but if I'm getting what I want when I'm intimidated, and self-conscious, and unsure—normal—(she kind of hated the way it sounded,) maybe I should carry on like this.

It sounded easy for someone of her disposition, but entailed much more courage and stamina than she thought she had in her at present.

Amelia bit her lip and opened her eyes to the mess of papers before her. Supposing I never figure this out… The chances of the journal having any information on Millennium were slim and none, but if there was some truth to the story of Dracula, then the knowledge of someone who had witnessed first-hand the powers of a vampire might inform her of the changes occurring in herself.

Strength, speed, she counted off on her fingers, healing, that shadow thing. I don't know how far that will get me, but it's more than what any person in my situation could hope for. Leaning forward, she began collecting the papers and setting them into a neat pile. They could be read through again after the next meal, which would probably be coming soon. Maybe I should hide them somewhere so they won't be found or mistaken for trash?

Out of the corner of her eye, Amelia saw the curtain across the door frame gently sway. She held still, papers tight in her hand, and stared at the emerald fabric, waiting for a visitor. Green—the green room. In the dream. The journal has something but I talked to a—the vampire! Does he know? What if—!? The curtain was pulled aside, and despite anticipating an entrance, the interruption on her racing thought process made her jump.

It was the Captain.

Even if the expectation was fleeting, for a moment, Amelia believed she would see a very different man standing there. She quickly turned from the red-eyed gaze, aware that she was wearing a gobsmacked expression, and picked up the papers and the journal. Then she scooped up her pillow and the borrowed pen.

Her hands were full.

Now what?

She hadn't gotten this far in thinking, and standing with everything in her arms, she found herself wondering what it was that she had been planning to do from the start. …Hm…

Amelia looked to the Captain. Schrödinger said he wasn't here, but I guess he came back? Or was I wrong? She took notice of the tray of food he was carrying.

The Captain took a couple steps into the room and Amelia moved back, glancing from side to side and hesitant to put her work down someplace where it could be easily snatched. Regarding her behavior without the slightest show of impatience, the man turned and placed the tray on the bedside dresser.

Amelia allowed herself to lower her guard a fraction. He could have handed the food to her and left her no other option but to set aside her things. How…nice.

"Is the doctor back?" After a brief pause, the silent man looked back at her from over his shoulder. Thinking the delayed response an indication that she had said something wrong, it took a few seconds to dawn on Amelia: I don't think I've ever talked to him before. I've answered him, but I've never started a conver—

A slow nod.

Unable to keep eye contact as well as he, Amelia looked away to the doorway. Maybe I should have waited, or checked to see if Doc returned on my own. Was it too suspicious to begin with a question? She took a few steps towards the curtain, then halted, spun around, and headed to her bed to drop off the pillow.

Back to the door… She stopped short to avoid a collision with the Captain, who stopped moving as well, thinking she was going to hurry through before him. He was discrete about glancing at her notes as he tilted his head in invitation.

Ducking nervously around the curtain, Amelia surveyed the lab in search of the spindly scientist. When she spotted him he was standing behind his desk, swiftly opening and closing drawers as he consulted a small sheet of paper.

He won't listen to me. Amelia gripped the journal a little tighter, feeling angry and helpless. She nearly lost her nerve. But then she was moving forward, of her own will and against every thought, every emotion that was building up within her, predicting a negative response.

"Doctor." Now that she was addressing him by title, 'Doc' sounded rather chummy.

The man's head snapped up, his expression suggesting he believed his time could be more wisely spent on fifty tasks other than this.

"S-sorry," Amelia mumbled instinctively before continuing. "Do you have a translation of this?"

"What is it?"

She was quick to respond. "Jonathan Harker's journal."

Dead silence.

"I don't think that's really necessary at this point, do you?" He seemed ready to end the conversation with the rhetorical question, yet he continued to observe her across the desk. Perhaps he was considering admonishing her for such a desire.

Keep going.

"Please. I would like to read it." At least he wasn't demanding she hand it over—yet. "I can't translate it on my own."

"What do you think you'll get from it?" He turned his head slightly, the overhead lights flashing across the lens of his glasses to glare at Amelia. She looked away. It didn't sound like he was prepared to argue; rather, that he would listen to her reason and then reject her.

"He's family, and…"

Of course he would ask a question like that! Why didn't you think of an answer before coming out here?

"And…"

If there is anything in it about Alucard. Or about someone like me.

"I just want to know," she finished. "Please."

The doctor shook his head. "No. I don't think so." He bent over and pulled another drawer open. "You just sit there and make do. There are plenty of other books to read."

The papers began to crinkle in her hand, and Doc, who had been transferring something from the drawer into his coat pocket, hesitated. "What?" He spoke again before Amelia could open her mouth, his brow furrowing in surprise. "You think that—?"

Amelia glanced behind to see that once again, the Captain had snuck up without her knowing; to be fair, pleading with a mad scientist was a little distracting. For a second their eyes met, before the red pair returned to the doctor. He nodded once.

Amelia watched their exchange, curious despite herself.

"Captain." Doc hurried around his desk to speak with the man a distance away from Amelia, not quite out of earshot but far enough to indicate he'd prefer their conversation remain private. "I'd rather she not read it." He was doing his best to keep his tone level, and Amelia had to struggle to hear.

The Captain gestured with his hands, but if he spoke or used sign language, she could not be sure, for both men had their backs angled at her.

"But she doesn't need to know anything! Her interest is driven by sentiment, and I am not here to appease a child!"

You do know that we are standing in the same room? If you speak loud enough, I can hear you. Not that he probably cared how he made her feel. Feigning politeness a little too late, Amelia looked away from the men and towards her room but continued to listen.

The Lieutenant, who had stopped singing, now sat hunched forward, squinting in concentration as she attempted to make out what was being said.

Doc abruptly lowered his voice after another stretch of silence, then hissed something under his breath and marched back to his desk, paying no mind to Amelia as he slammed a couple of drawers shut. Tensing at the display of anger, Amelia took a step back.

"I don't like it," the doctor grumbled after a few seconds, appearing to have grudgingly resigned to an unfavorable decision. Raising his voice to be heard, he called without sparing the recipient a glance: "It's with the other files." He picked up the paper and the materials he had gathered from the desk. "Make sure you take that journal when you give it to her. I don't want her having both." With a final unhappy grunt, he headed for the blue curtain, muttering to himself along the way.

Amelia watched him for a while before looking back at the Captain, whose gaze followed the retreating figure. Of course. He's in charge. She was incredibly foolish for not realizing it sooner. Because he had always acted subservient to the doctor, she hadn't given much thought to the difference in rank suggested by their titles. It isn't the doctor who's responsible for me, it's the Captain. Doc's really just an employed physician; that time he briefly spoke about vampires and my condition, he sounded more interested in pursuing scientific research than participating in a war.

The door closed behind Doc, and the lab fell into silence.

Now the Captain turned her way. Amelia's pulse quickened as he walked up to her, and while every muscle twitched with nervous energy, her feet remained rooted to the floor. The Captain presented a hand, palm up.

What the doctor said… He'll give me something in return? Did he mean a translation?

Observing her reluctance, the man dipped his head, his gloved fingers extending a little farther in emphasis.

"I-if I…" She swallowed heavily, having trouble finding her voice and getting her thoughts in order. Her eyes flickered upwards to meet his, only intending to stay there for a second; but it turned into a stare. "If…" The word was barely a whisper. It was terrifying. He was terrifying. He's in charge.

Amelia jerked her head down, as though she needed the force to break free of the trance. She shut her mouth and gave up trying to speak. Instead, she relinquished the journal, slowly and gently setting it in the Captain's hand in an unspoken, perhaps final, farewell. Then she lowered her gaze to the floor and wrapped a trembling hand around the bottom of her shirt, waiting for whatever was to happen next.

After a few seconds, a tap on the shoulder informed her that her attention was wanted. She lifted her head to watch the Captain point at the floor.

When she looked and saw nothing there, he shook his head and pointed again, and this time she interpreted the action differently. Stay here. She gave a tentative nod to acknowledge she understood—or thought she understood—what was being communicated.

With a slight turn of his head and a hand gesture the Captain issued an instruction to the Lieutenant.

Warily glancing over her shoulder, Amelia watched the woman hop off her stool and stroll through the green curtain. By the time she swiveled back around to face the Captain, he was already on his way to the lab's exit.

Erm… Is this good? Nothing had been explained, so she was not sure how to respond.

The curtain to her room whooshed aside dramatically, and out came the Lieutenant, carrying the tray of food the Captain had brought earlier. Oh, yes. I should probably eat.

There wasn't a proper table to sit at, so when the Lieutenant offered her the food, Amelia set her papers and pen aside and made herself comfortable on the floor with her back against the doctor's desk. The drink she carefully moved off the tray and to the floor beside her, on the opposite side of where her notes lay.

Balancing the meal in her lap, she picked up her fork and stabbed a piece of meat that had no doubt become cool. As she was raising the food to her lips, she hesitated, noticing that the Lieutenant was watching her. It wasn't a rude stare, and the atmosphere around the spectacled woman was not threatening; but it was uncomfortable.

Amelia squirmed and angled her face downwards, trying to ignore the woman. Putting the meat in her mouth, she was not surprised to find her temperature prediction correct. But a cool meal was better than a cold one, and she quickly ate what was there without complaint, save for the grimace from the first mouthful of sweet potatoes.

Only when she put the fork down did she realize how much she had eaten in such a short time; not ten minutes had passed since the Captain's departure. Nerves, she decided, stifling a yawn as she reached for her drink.

The main door to the lab suddenly slid open, and the Captain entered.

Figuring the beverage could wait, Amelia left it on the floor and removed the tray from her lap. In her haste to stand, she felt her stomach lurch, and she stilled for a moment to let the food settle. Definitely ate too fast.

Or it might have been that she was excited, because she couldn't help but notice that the Captain had with him a thin binder. Her hands fidgeted at her sides, and she was almost tempted to run to him rather than wait for him to come to her. But she restrained herself, and after what felt like an eternity, the Captain came to a halt, holding the binder out for her to take.

Amelia moved a little closer, looking at the binder and then the Captain. No reaction.

Despite her eagerness to read the content, Amelia found herself accepting the item as though it was an antique, carefully flipping open the cover as though she expected it to crumble in her hands.

Harker, Jonathon. Journal. English translation of original shorthand. 100 pages.

For a minute she stared at the cover page, struggling with an assortment of emotions until one won out over the others, leaving a ghost of a smile on her lips.

"Thank you."

Happy Valentine's Day!