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I do not own Hellsing.
Two men stood in the hall, looking slightly bored and—judging by the weapons hanging on their belts and in their hands—prepared for a fight. The moment Amelia caught sight of them she knew that the door between them was the one the Captain would direct her through. What made the eleven-second journey to the door nearly unbearable was the fact that she recognized one of the guards. He hadn't grabbed her like his partner did in the forest, but he had still chased her.
He shot at me.
Having recognized him, she couldn't look him in the eye, or even look in his direction, but the slightest movements he made did not go unnoticed by her. She was almost glad when the Captain ushered her into the room beyond.
Then she found herself among faces she did not recognize, and a few that she knew but did not care for.
"Hey, little girl!" An American. "Are you gonna entertain us tonight?" The greeting came from the dark-haired man in one of the two hospital beds, his golden eyes briefly scanning her face before wandering lower.
"That is not how you address a lady! She is our guest!"
"Over here, Miss Harker."
Voices over-lapped, the former shout ringing much louder than the latter. Sitting on a stool with her rifle in her lap, the Lieutenant glared at the golden-eyed man from her corner. The doctor waved from the bedside of the other occupied bed, and Amelia felt the Captain nudge her forward.
"Really? You're gonna criticize me again? After all the shit I do for you guys, you just wanna keep calling me out. I haven't even heard one 'Thank you!' Where are your manners, bitch?"
Amelia sat down in the chair beside the doctor, just as the Lieutenant sprang from her stool. The woman's usually pale face seemed to glow pink as she tightened her grip on her firearm. A torrent of criticism and outrage flew from her mouth, all of it in German but not in the least understandable.
"Lieutenant!" Doc snapped. The man on the receiving end of the Lieutenant's outburst leaned forward and started shouting at her from across the room. Amelia sat cringing, waiting for the Lieutenant to shoot the man or for the man to climb out of his bed and swing a fist at her.
Turning away from the spectacled woman and towards the man screaming profanities in English, she took the opportunity to discreetly shift her gaze a little farther left, to the occupant in the bed beside her. The blonde haired man hadn't spoken once, and he didn't appear particularly interested in the argument in front of him. Instead, he elected to devote his attention to her. Unlike the golden-eyed stranger, he kept his eyes on her face, the smallest of frowns twitching on his lips.
Amelia quickly returned her eyes to the Lieutenant, flustered. The Captain stood before the lanky woman, trying to block her view of the American—although neither participant seemed willing to back down.
At one point, the Lieutenant's verbal attack was cut off when she paused for breath. Taking advantage of the moment, the Captain slammed a hand down on her shoulder and steered her directly in front of him, her posture burdened by the extra weight. Her head rocked back as he gave her a single, hard shake.
"Ah…" Her voice was much softer as she seemed to remember herself. She tilted her head in the direction of her captured arm. "Es tut mir Leid."
"Yeah, put that bitch in her place." If the Lieutenant thought to retort, her expression gave away no indication.
"Miss Harker." Amelia looked up at the doctor, wondering how many times he had called her name without a response. "Relax." As if it was that easy. She uncurled her fists and let loose some of the tension in her legs and arms; it never truly disappeared.
"What are you going to do?" Her voice was almost a whisper.
"A blood transfusion."
Thirty minutes later, Amelia was rubbing away a smudge of dried blood on her arm. The wound had closed seconds after the doctor removed the needle; there was no need for a bandage. Despite how small the donation had been, it left her tired, and with a dull headache. She had never given blood before, but she knew that donors were urged to hydrate themselves before donating, and that she certainly was not in good condition to have given.
Mentioning this to the doctor got her a less-than-satisfactory response that made little sense and sounded like an attempt to brush off questions or concern. Given how the chair she was seated in had a tall back and arm rests, she could only conclude that he knew—or at least, anticipated—she would experience the current side effects.
Bastard. She leaned back and stared at the camera on the ceiling, letting her anger simmer. I should have expected as much...
"Can you stand, Miss Harker?" The Lieutenant's voice broke through the white noise of shuffling steps and murmurs beside her. It was the first time she had spoken since her outburst, her voice light and slightly grating on the ears.
"Yeah." Her throat felt dry.
"You're not moving far: over by me…"
Brilliant.
"… In case things become busy over here."
What does that mean? Deciding not to ask, Amelia followed the Lieutenant's instruction, rising slowly.
"Do you need help?" The freckled woman swooped in, noticing the grimace that flitted across her face. She was a little dizzy. With her rifle resting on the stool, the woman was free to offer her hands, palms up and fingers curling in a beckoning motion, as a mother would coax her toddler to take its first steps.
"I'm fine," Amelia asserted, refusing the assistance. Her answer did not seem to offend the woman, who stayed by her side as she walked.
The Captain set down her chair next to the Lieutenant's stool.
"Danke schön." The Lieutenant flashed a relieved smile at him, and then turned to Amelia, patting the seat. "Sit, sit!"
Easing herself onto the thin cushion, Amelia watched her cheerful companion plop down on her stool, rifle in lap. "Let me know if you need something," she whispered as if sharing a secret.
I need dreamless sleep. I need to find a way to get out of here. I need food. I'm thirsty. Thinking of Schrödinger's terrible sense of humor, she scowled. Estimating the likelihood of getting what she asked for, "Can I get a blanket? It's cold in this room…" She rubbed her arms for emphasis, although the action wasn't necessary. Goosebumps covered her exposed arms. The thermostat was probably set at a comfortable temperature, but she intended to blame everything she could on dehydration, and by doing so, blame the doctor.
"Of course," the Lieutenant nodded, "you must be freezing." Not even a hint of insincerity. She hopped off the stool and scampered in the direction of the physician, her rifle bumping against her shoulder.
Amelia's eyes flickered from the woman to the dark haired man on the far side of the room, who had been remarkably quiet for some time now. She followed his gaze to the man sitting in the second bed, watching the people at work around him.
Another man had entered while her attention was elsewhere. He was dressed in a white coat and pants similar to those worn by the doctor, yet there were no stains on his uniform, and when he stood still, the creases on his pants and sleeves were visible. Apparently the doctor required an assistant.
After a few seconds, the man in white walked around to the opposite side of the bed.
The occupant gave his left arm a sharp tug, testing the restraint. It held.
Once his right arm was secured, his ankles were next. A strap was already in place over his torso. Amelia watched the assistant work, trying to cope with the reality that she was watching the prelude to something dreadful.
"Here we are!" the Lieutenant sang, startling Amelia from her observation. "This should be nice and warm." She handed over a dark green blanket before climbing back onto her stool.
"Thank you," she muttered out of habit, wrapping the heavy fabric around her like a cocoon. "I wouldn't need a blanket if I was in my bed." The complaint was spoken at a low volume, but the Lieutenant heard her.
"I am sorry, Miss Harker, but Doc wants you to stay here for a little while longer. He does not know how much blood he will need."
"He's going to take more?" Amelia watched the doctor and assistant finish their preparations. Most of it consisted of the doctor circling the bed and making certain everything was to his liking, while the assistant stood aside, waiting.
"I do not think so. Humans can only take in so much before…" She trailed off as the first drops of blood crept through the tube towards the man's right arm. With the exception of the constant beeping of the heart rate monitor, the room settled into silence.
Amelia pulled the blanket tighter, tensing beneath the extra layer. Something bad is going to happen—I know it. I know it, and I'm just sitting here. She glanced around the room and saw every pair of eyes on the blonde. They know it too. The monitor picked up a spike in heart rate, and Amelia's gaze was drawn back to the restrained man, her own heart pounding. In a couple of seconds the beeping slowed, but did not quite return to the original interval.
"Something wrong?" asked the doctor.
"My arm feels warm. Not hot, just warm." The man looked down at his arm where the IV was attached and gave a small shake of his head. "Other than that, I feel fine." He was also an American. However, his voice was deeper and much cooler than his companion's, with a confident edge suggesting he thought highly of himself.
"Your entire arm, or around the injection site?"
"My arm."
"I see." The doctor nodded, as if his assumption was met. "Is the temperature constant, or is it increasing, decreasing…?"
"Gradually getting warmer." Amelia watched the long-haired man carefully. As exhausted as she was, she was incapable of sitting still.
That's what I felt after he gave me Mina's blood. Is the same thing going to happen to him? She didn't want to see that.
Over the next couple of minutes the man kept quiet, although the monitor showed his heart rate rising. Sweat shone behind a few golden locks hanging over his forehead. He raised his left hand, only to stop short when his restraint pulled tight on his forearm. A grunt preceded a labored breath, and he made a fist and dropped his arm.
"Your face is red. Are you still breathing?"
"Yes," He ground out, his voice unsteady, and another heavy sigh escaped after the curt response.
"Bro?" The man in the other bed leaned to the side, just a little.
"Don't try to suppress your reaction, you aren't doing yourself any favors," said the doctor. A tense pause followed in which no response was given. "Luke."
The man lurched forwards, struggling against the strap fastened around his ribcage and those around his arms. He gasped like a fish out of water, choking on curses so violently that his glasses slipped off his face.
Amelia jumped ungracefully out of her chair; the golden-eyed man swore and shuffled to the far side of his bed; the Captain drew closer to the restrained man; the Lieutenant lifted her rifle from its resting place, and the doctor's assistant snatched the fallen pair of glasses from the man's lap.
A brief command from the doctor sent the assistant jogging out of the room.
The Lieutenant grabbed Amelia's blanket from behind. "You are safe," she told her as she shrugged off her green cocoon.
"I can't watch this." Amelia's voice shook as she threw the blanket onto the seat cushion, shaking her head all the while. Her headache felt worse. Tears were rolling down Luke's cheeks, his eyes opened wide like Amelia's when she turned back to the dark-suited woman. "Stop it! Please, stop it!"
"Miss Harker—," began the Lieutenant.
Sensing someone behind her, Amelia spun around, swaying. Spots flickered in her vision after each blink, and she grabbed an arm rest to steady herself.
The assistant returned, his shoes smacking loudly on the floor tiles.
Amelia pushed herself upright. Her expression revealed more than physical pain as she faced the white-haired man. "You have to stop! You're going to kill him!"
The Captain's hands came down to his sides, no longer in use.
"What about—?" A nod was directed to the woman behind her, followed by the sound of retreating footsteps.
Amelia looked at the pale figure slouching against his restraints and the bag of blood suspended by his bedside. It was impossible to tell if the man was conscious. His chest quickly rose and fell, a moan pushing past his lips with each shallow breath. The doctor, at his side, tapped his shoulder. He grabbed some hair around the base of Luke's head and pulled back, tilting his face upwards without any resistance.
Amelia whimpered and darted around the Captain, making for the patient. "You have to stop," her voice cracked.
"Miss Harker," the doctor warned, and his assistant stepped away from the wall, ready to block her path. "Do not interfere." She was jerked to a halt by a hand around her left arm.
"You have to stop! He's dying!" Her eyes were damp, but the tears never fell. Twisting in the Captain's grip, she grabbed his wrist, struggling to detach him. "Can't you see? Can't you hear?"
"He will not die." The doctor raised his voice, his attention on Luke.
"He is!"
"Miss Harker, you are not well—drink this." The Lieutenant came bounding up beside her with a glass of what appeared to be water. Anticipating her response, the Captain tugged Amelia away from the Lieutenant before she could knock the glass out of the woman's hand.
"Please—," the Lieutenant tried again, her tone concerned.
"What is wrong with you?!" Amelia removed her hand from the Captain's wrist and pressed it against her right ear. "Can't you tell?" Her shout dropped to a croak, the volume aggravating her headache. "Haven't you ever watched someone die?"
For an instant she shut her eyes, and in that second she saw her father fading away in his bed, sallow and still.
Then her eyes were open, and she was staring at the floor between the Captain and herself. She could hear Luke gasping behind her, and she bent over further to meet her left hand with her left ear, mirroring the right side. The sound was the worst.
Her first and—thus far—only encounter with death had been at her father's bedside. Too little time had passed for the memory to blur or drift from her subconscious, and as with pivotal moments in life, some of the details remained painfully clear. Zorin had somehow used the memory of her father to attack her, but it was only an illusion at best. What she was experiencing now was reality, and it stung more sharply than memory alone.
Anxiety slowly began to suffocate her, pressing on her chest and making breathing uncomfortable. She couldn't recall, when she realized she was seated in her chair again, if her legs had carried her there or if she had been moved.
The Lieutenant, crouched beside her, pat her knee in a comforting manner, while her mouth formed words that she could not comprehend. Amelia spared her a couple seconds of attention before lowering her head. It didn't matter what she was saying. Nothing could justify their actions. You're all sick. Sick, sick, sick, sick, sick, sick…
Oblivious to her internal chanting, the Lieutenant continued to pat her consolingly.
Stop! Amelia spat the word at the woman without a sound, twisting in the chair and sending a sharp kick her way.
The Lieutenant dodged the attack, withdrawing her hand from Amelia's lap as she pulled back. The water in her other hand splashed up the sides of the glass, seeping into the fabrics of her glove and sleeve as she tried keep her rifle tucked under her armpit.
Amelia fell back into her chair. As powerful as her emotions were, they could not sustain her. What little strength she had left she used to keep her hands planted to her ears.
Now standing and out of kicking range, the Lieutenant turned to the Captain, trying to hand him the glass of water. He wouldn't take it. Both adults turned to look at Amelia.
The Captain moved forwards and pointed to the side of his head.
"No." Her voice came out tight and hoarse.
He took a step to her side where she would not be able to kick him, and she tucked her head and arms closer to her body. He tapped the back of her left hand.
His second request for cooperation went unacknowledged.
Slowly, his hand engulfed hers, the size difference allowing him to curl a couple of fingers around her wrist. He gave a gentle tug, experimenting. Although Amelia's limbs shook slightly from the strain, she did not budge.
The Captain released her hand.
A moment later he surprised her again by leaving her side to station himself in front of her, down on one knee and nearly at eye level with her, if she bothered to lift her chin. Her back ached, but to straighten from her hunched posture meant meeting the man face to face. She wasn't prepared to do that.
Making a conscious effort not to look at him, she watched the Captain inch towards her. He must know I have no strength left. Or he must suspect it, at least… What is he doing?
The Captain was much closer than she wanted him to be. Had he been as insensitive as Schrödinger he might have leaned forward and used her knees to prop up one of his arms.
At first he did nothing more than peer at her face, shifting farther left and then right to analyze her from different angles.
Finally, as if satisfied with the view from one particular spot, he stopped moving and stared. It was just as infuriating as the Lieutenant's consoling, and the concentration it took to ignore his red gaze made her eyes water and her head feel like it would split.
He reached forwards with care, his white-gloved hand opening with the gentleness of a blooming flower as it approached her face. Fingertips skimming above her left eyebrow, he brushed aside the uneven shadow of bangs covering her face.
Amelia jerked back, slapping the Captain's extended arm with her right hand: a weak attempt to push him away but an action that could not be misinterpreted. Get away from me.
The white haired man leaned back a fraction and caught her wrist, her strike too slow and exaggerated to catch him off guard. She grabbed the left arm of her chair with her other hand so that she would not fall on the floor, believing a tug of war was about to take place.
Instinctively looking up, her glare swept over the Captain's shoulder and landed on Luke, now reclined in bed with his eyes closed.
She blinked, and suddenly she was close to the floor, the tiles stretching on into a pale checkered landscape, and her chair towering an arm's length away. What? What happened? Her question came out as a grunt.
Without waiting for a response, she tried to right herself and felt something solid move against her back—or perhaps it was the other way around. The distinct impression of a hand pressed into her right side, helping her lift her upper body away from the floor.
Someone babbled nearby, and Amelia frowned, craning her neck to look over her shoulder. Something like a curse screeched in her head when she saw the Captain crouched beside her, holding her up—not that anyone else's aid would have been appreciated either. She splayed her hands on the floor and did her best to drag herself away from the brown-coated officer. The arm around her middle held her back.
"Drink!" Pleading, the Lieutenant squeezed herself between Amelia and the chair. "Please!" Her suit bunched awkwardly as she squatted, offering her the glass of water from earlier.
Amelia paused in her hopeless endeavor to stare at the glass, listening to the heavy breaths escaping her as she considered the woman's words.
"I am sorry, but you fainted. Please, drink so it will not happen again." She didn't make it clear who was at fault.
A shadow passed over Amelia, accompanied by a male voice speaking calmly in German.
Amelia took ahold of the glass, distracting the Lieutenant from the male speaker and causing her expression to brighten. The arm around her waist was gone, but she hardly noticed. She brought the drink to her lips, her eyes clouding as she listened to what was beyond the one-sided conversation beside her, the golden-eyed American's prattling to no one in particular, and the rustle of papers on the doctor's clipboard.
The heart rate monitor pulsed.