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I do not own Hellsing.

The darkness was everywhere. It overpowered her sight, moved around and with her like water, deafened, and drowned her. And then it left, swept away as easily as dandelion seeds caught in a gust of wind. Amelia breathed deeply and stretched her limbs, her socks slipping over the edge of the seat and onto the floor.

I don't have an armchair in my room. She jolted upright, eyes wide, and practically threw herself out of the chair, letting out a small yelp when her leg knocked against a low table that was nearly invisible in the dark. It took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust, black shapes lightening to shades of blue and gradually becoming recognizable. Across the table sat another empty armchair, mirroring the one she had woken in. A yawning black mouth in the wall was revealed to be not a doorway, but a cold hearth, the scent of ash lingering in the air. She recognized the room.

Is it…? Turning around, she searched for the small source of light, hoping her mind was not playing tricks on her. A door rest ajar, soft, natural light beckoning to her from the other side. She took two steps towards it and stepped on the front of her skirt, her stumble bringing her further forward until she caught herself on the doorframe. Startled by her clumsiness, she took a moment to steady herself and reached for the cloth around her legs.

A robe? No. Dress? Her hands wandered to her arms, clutching at long, loose sleeves, and her eyes wandered over her glowing person in the dim light. Something like the nightgown she had worn before, with sleeves, and a hem that touched the floor. And she was wearing socks; warm, fuzzy, blessed socks. It was the first time that she did not feel a chill.

A breeze gently pushed the door against her bowed head and she jumped, surprised as much by its movement as the cool circulation. Holding her breath, she opened the door wider.

There was grass at her feet. The current brushed against her cheeks and neck, and she leaned a little more heavily against the frame.

The skeleton of an abbey, crumbling stone walls and broken pillars, loomed ominously ahead. Dusk, in hues of orange, red, and purple painted the view out of windows without glass and through arched doorways without wood or metal. It was a beautiful and haunting sight.

Pulling up the skirt of her gown, she pressed the toes of one foot into the grass, wondering if she could trust her senses. The ground felt sturdy enough. She glanced over her shoulder and saw that she was still alone.

She took a tentative step out of the room, her entire foot sinking into the green. Letting go of the doorframe, she ventured another step. A second glance behind revealed the doorway and the empty room, but nothing more; it was a door in the air.

After five more hesitant steps and no sign of the door disappearing the farther she wandered, she began to explore in earnest.

In no time at all, her socks were damp and stained, chilling her feet as she moved through the remains and encouraging her to hike up her skirt to avoid exposing it to similar conditions.

It's not an illusion. I think I'm here. Wherever "here" was.

She paused under an arch at the top of a shallow set of steps and looked out, scanning the horizon. The humming in her ears had been more than just the wind. Over the sloping wall at the bottom of the small hillside, she could see water. The ocean, the sea—she did not know which, but the familiarity caught her by surprise. Looking to her left, though they were some distance away, she could make out the curved slabs of tombstones, and beyond that, the glowing walls and roofs of civilization stacked upon what she knew to be the opposite side of a harbor.

"It's the same place," she told herself. How had she missed something as large as the abbey before? How had sunrise become sunset in such a short time? Had the small room—the door in the air—been here all along? Had she been travelling to the same location every time she dreamed? Did that mean the cliff side where she had encountered the dog was also close by? There were too many questions for which she did not know the answers, including the one she was most concerned with: Where is the vampire?

She looked about and saw no one, but there was a tingling, sinking sensation in her gut. Excitement and dread quickened her heartbeat and brought on a wave of light-headedness. Staggering sideways against the remains of the doorframe, she squeezed her eyes shut and held tightly to the stone.

He must be here, somewhere. If he's been here before, he'll come again. Where? Where is he? She swallowed heavily, feeling sick, and after a minute opened her eyes to focus on the weathered steps before her, willing the anxiety to pass. Gradually, it began to diminish, but her hands trembled as they left the stone, and no matter how hard she clenched them, they would not still.

Gathering the folds of her dress, she stepped away from the arch, preparing to descend the short flight. She did not make it far, however, drawing to a halt on the top step when she caught sight of him.

He was within shouting distance: a dark, motionless figure standing at the perimeter wall overlooking the water. Even with his back to her, she knew it was the vampire.

Frozen in place, she waited for him to turn around and spot her, descend upon her with inhuman speed and... She tried not to think that far ahead in detail.

The first minute ticked by, and his attention remained elsewhere.

Amelia took a slow step back towards the arch, paused, and then rushed behind the stone with a swish of her skirt. She pressed herself to the wall, digging her palms and forehead into the rough surface.

What are you doing? He's there. You have to go to him. She shut her eyes, her lower lip trembling. You have to. You have to speak with him. You have to! That's why you're here! With utmost care she inched along the wall, returning to the empty doorway and peering around the corner.

Alucard had not moved.

She pulled her head back and knocked her forehead lightly against the arch. Go on. You have to! You may not get this chance again! She was already short of breath as she pried herself from the stone, reaching for her skirt to occupy her nervous hands.

Go. She lowered her gaze to the ground in front of her and took a step towards the stairs.

Go. Another step forward.

That's it: one tiny step at a time. Slow. One step.

Good.

Down the first…

Good. And the second…

She traveled half the distance between them thinking to herself, guiding, narrating, keeping her eyes trained on the ground. It wasn't until she glanced up at the vampire that her concentration broke. And then she couldn't tear her gaze away.

Alucard still had his back to her, his long coat swaying in the same wind that tousled his mess of black hair. The way the shadows crept in, it appeared as if he and the night were bleeding into one another. He looked like any man admiring the last colors of a sunset, but there was something off, some wrongness he exuded that made her reluctant to venture further.

He must know that I'm here. Why doesn't he turn around? What is he waiting for? She didn't want to move closer, but gauging her distance and how far her fragile voice was likely to carry, she would have to do just that. Hurry. You're losing light, warned a voice in the back of her head.

Tip-toeing onward, she watched his back, observed it growing larger after each step until she slipped to a halt in the grass, having realized that she had traveled much closer to the vampire than she was comfortable.

"Alucard?" Her voice was low and soft, and she ducked her head on the last syllable, timidity swallowing what was left of her short-lived bravery. She wrung the life out of the cloth in her hands, waiting for his response.

None came.

Her fearful expression turned to one of pain, and it was several seconds before she spoke again.

"Alucard." The call was half-hearted at best, and earned neither an over-the-shoulder glance nor a verbal reply.

Amelia pressed a palm to her left eye, feeling tears prickle beneath it. I don't think I can do this. She swallowed thickly in an attempt to keep her throat from tightening. It didn't do much good. Taking another step forward, she let her hand fall from her face, the evening chill stinging the damp skin around her eye. She was almost shoulder-to-shoulder with him when she found her voice to address him a third time.

"Alucard. I need your help. Please. Please help me." Perhaps it was because she was on the verge of giving up that she sounded so calm.

The vampire finally moved, looking over his shoulder at her, and she glimpsed a pair of red eyes before they were concealed by dark locks of hair. He had returned his gaze to the horizon.

Shocked by his reaction, Amelia retreat a step, scrambling to collect her thoughts and comprehend his behavior. Does he not care anymore? He was angry last time… Maybe he's still angry? Did I make things worse? The thought of being alone in dreams as she was in waking frightened her, and she touched his elbow.

"Please…" she tried again, just a little louder.

His head turned sharply, and this time the rest of his body turned with it. The same impulse that urged her to grab his arm spurred her to release it, but not quickly enough. With the speed of a coiled snake he caught her wrist and gave it a tug that unsteadied her and brought her closer. She raised her right arm—the only barrier she had to put between them—and extended it, palm bumping firmly against his chest. Her tongue felt heavy in her mouth, and though she had a lot that she needed to say, her jaw felt like it was glued shut.

Unnatural eyes locked with hers as the vampire lowered his head, making no attempt to pull her any closer. There was no open malice in his expression, but neither was there mischief or pity. Cast in the blue shadows of twilight, his pale face looked colder, less human. Despite the agelessness of his features and his vitality, it was difficult to imagine him fitting in anywhere quite comfortably outside of a coffin.

Amelia stared at him, tight-lipped. She could not erase the image Jonathan Harker had painted of him.

As the silence stretched out, his eyes narrowed, his expression twisting into a complementing emotion that told her he was not experiencing this encounter as she was. And how could he? Had he known her secrets, he would have rolled his eyes and declared her story a boring read. But the secrets he kept, those entries in the journal that revealed the monster masquerading in the body of a man, were too much for someone like her to disregard or carry alone without breaking.

He had crossed a boundary that neither one had tested—that she didn't realize had existed until now. He touched her. He was still touching her. And she was touching him. She felt him: a solid body beneath the crimson coat and white shirt, a tightening grip around her wrist that was becoming painful.

This is real. He's real.

It had been easy enough to believe that every experience was on a dream-like plane of existence. They talked—never touched—and all the wind and cold seemed real the way it did in a dream, tangible until she woke without memory of texture or evidence of tactile exposure.

Panic bubbled in her gut as she tried and failed to free her wrist. Thinking her outstretched arm offered some protection, functioned as a suitable buffer, she forgot to take into account his reach, only realizing her error when his other hand ghosted past her elbow. Gloved fingers touched the side of her neck and she cringed, inadvertently leaning into his hand.

"Don't," she hissed as she pulled her hand from his chest to lay it atop his knuckles. She didn't know how to remove it without prompting him to strangle her. He tugged her once more by the arm, their bodies nearly brushing, and Amelia turned her head away. The hand on her neck flexed, the thumb pressing into her lower jaw to force her head the other way. His face—particularly his mouth—was too close to her neck.

"Don't!" She barked, her voice as loud as it was raw with emotion. He let her pull her head away, but her wrist he kept in his control. Amelia pressed her hand to her neck as if to wipe away the feeling of his gloved fingers against her skin.

"You haven't been bitten." He looked up from her captured wrist, the cuff of her sleeve swinging back and forth around her elbow.

"No. No, I haven't." There was no need to answer when he hadn't asked, but she found the words spilling from her mouth nonetheless. "An-and I don't want to be!"

"But you keep coming here." He adjusted his hand on her wrist as if to emphasize the point. "How? Who is helping you?" His gaze was suspicious and unkind.

"No one! No one is helping me. I don't understand; I don't know what's going on!" She tried to free her arm again. "I swear, I don't know!" He suddenly let go and she stumbled on the slope, feet slipping from under her on the dewy grass as the world tilted and she landed on her back, breathless. "Oh," she winced and rolled to her side, her body aching from the landing.

"I know I shouldn't be here. I don't want to be here… I-I thought…" She shifted onto her knees, the white fabric around her legs damp. She tried to stand, only to realize too late that she was sitting on the skirt as she awkwardly plopped back down, obstructed by her own clothing. Hastily pulling at the garment to work it out from beneath her, she continued. "I thought you might know more, since…" When she looked up from her attire she flinched at the sight of the vampire standing in front of her. Once again, her jaw clenched shut when she needed to use it. Her movements stilled as she kneeled in the grass.

"Whose blood did you drink?" The voice that spoke was so quiet, so gentle, that Amelia initially mistook it for one of the many thoughts spoken inside her head.

"Harker." She didn't call herself that.

It took a few tries to engage and maintain eye contact. She couldn't be certain, but she thought his eyes seemed to glow, faintly. Or it might have been the reflection of lights from the harbor.

"I don't know. There were…packs, some bags filled with blood. I didn't read any labels… Syringes and tubes and needles… I never drank from a person. I wouldn't." She fought the urge to close her eyes and look away. "But I saw people. In the other room, the hall behind the curtain had people. Sick people. The Captain and the Doctor never made me drink from them. But they did force it down my throat—one container, when I got hurt. Sometimes…I think they put it in my drink and don't tell me. I've been given injections since arriving, too; only one with blood—that I can remember. Doc gave it to me after Zorin stabbed me. It…burned…and I lost consciousness for a while. He told me it was a woman's blood. The last of it. He called her 'She.' Maybe that was her name? I woke up sick afterwards."

It was easy to talk to him once she got started. If only her explanations came out smoother, clearer, rather than the abrupt and stilted utterances her mind was spewing. She wouldn't quite call it rambling; everything that she said was somehow related to his question, or at the very least, enlightened him about her situation. It might have sounded confusing, but it must have been helpful.

"There was another time when I woke up after being sedated… There was blood on the floor, around me, in the drains. I'm sure they had been torturing me, so some of it must have been mine, but I can't say, since I was unconscious."

Something's not right.

She blinked, continuing after a brief pause. "Another time, I was…"

A shaky breath stuttered past her lips. No. This is wrong.

"Harker." His hand cradled the side of her face, comforting, appealing. He felt so close, she could swear she was sinking into him, drifting. His eyes flickered over her face, and she squinted at him as if peering through a thick fog.

"I…" she sighed, and her eyes closed. I'm telling him everything. Everything he wants to know. Everything.

"Stop." It was exhausting to slow down and truly think about what she wanted to say, especially when it was so much more convenient to let it tumble out past her lips.

"Stop." She suddenly twisted her head away from his hand, squeezing her eyes shut. "I can't… I know..." Daring to open her eyes, she struggled to focus on anything but Alucard. "I know what you're doing. And I want you to stop. You hypnotized them. I read about Van—and—and…"

Too much.

She tried to recover from the slip-up by passing it off as a slur, back-tracking to her original statement, but the haze in her mind had dissipated swiftly. "I want you to stop."

"What do you know?" He wasn't coercing, or intimidating, or manipulating her to speak.

If I lie… No, no, I can't…! She tensed and felt an unfamiliar fabric between her fingers. Two different fabrics.

There was no avoiding it.

Her eyes flew to her hands, first to the one bunching a fistful of his coat and then to the hand lying in his palm. She couldn't even remember standing up. She pushed herself away, as disturbed by her own unconscious actions as she was by his intent.

"Harker."

Shaking her head harshly, she took another step back up the slope, wishing the daylight would return. "Please. Don't call me that; you sound just like them. And I don't…" She didn't want to look at him again. "I don't want you to be like them." The tears that she had bottled up since her arrival spilled out, staining the cheeks that she hid behind her hands as she shook.

"I think they're going to kill me."