Thank you to those of you who left a review or added this story to your alert/favorite list!

I completed the first full draft of this chapter in September, and then I realized that I was making the story even more complicated and throwing in more twists than I could realistically handle. So, after several additional months of brainstorming and editing, I finally have something worth publishing (and hopefully worth reading). Thank you for your patience!

Please read, review, and enjoy! : )

I do not own Hellsing.

Amelia couldn't tear her gaze away from the Captain's face, his expression contorted into something ugly, incomplete, features trapped between human and animal. Veins of white hair sprouted out of tanned skin, creeping across his face and poking out from behind his coat collar. His cap hit the pillow beside her head, the hair that was once hidden beneath it bristling. The bed creaked, and she could swear she felt his limbs sink deeper into the mattress around her, his body growing heavier for some inexplicable reason. Yet the worst part might not have been the transformation, but the red eyes that stared back, unchanged—as if the eyes watching her had never been human. She felt faint, stifled. The weight of his hand at the base of her neck had doubled in seconds. A frightened mewl was the only sound that escaped her open mouth, easier to produce than intelligible words and just as easy to interpret.

Nonononono— She twisted beneath him, trying to find an escape route as she pushed against his wrist to no avail. His face was almost completely white; long, pointed ears twitched and flicked back against his head, his mouth and nose protruding into a narrow snout. Another twist onto her side and her shin pressed up against his ribcage, felt it tremor as the muscles over it shifted, conforming to the change in structure.

Rolling onto the opposite hip, her leg slipped across his coat and was suddenly free of the bodily cage. She pulled her knee towards her shoulder, scooting herself a little farther down the mattress for a better stretch, and then brought her heel down as hard as she could manage, aiming for his pelvis.

"Get off!" She withdrew her hands from his wrist and snapped them against his left shoulder at the same time her foot connected with his side. His body twitched against her foot, and something warm and wet spilled over her sock and traveled up her calf, gravity dragging a trail to the back of her knee where it sunk into the crease of her pants. Her hands left his shoulder bloody, the shadows coiling around her arms and between her fingers withdrawing from the jacket material with a soft sound. She made a gagging noise in the back of her throat, and the hand that was holding her down grabbed her by the neck.

I didn't mean to! I didn't mean it! The shadows detached from her skin and flailed as if enraged, lashing out to cut the bed, the wall, and the creature hovering over her. A sharp, burning pain erupted above her left elbow, and she realized, with no small amount of horror, that she had been cut as well.

She couldn't control them.

Pain raced up the length of her shin.

Stop! Her lips formed the words as she gasped for air, her hands working at the grip cutting off her oxygen supply while also trying to bat away the shadows. The Captain moved above her, and she lifted her gaze in time to see his fist swing towards her in a blur of white.

Darkness followed.

Amelia blinked, stirring. Her heart skipped a beat and she sat up, rigid, a dull throbbing in her temple. There was blood on the bed sheets, on her clothes, her skin. The Captain, sitting at the foot of the bed, turned his head, and she saw blood on him too.

Oh, God. She looked down at the stains on her palms, saw the material on her right leg split finely up to her knee, felt the damp, red patches on her clothes brush uncomfortably against her legs, her shoulder, her chest. Most of it was not her blood.

She locked gazes with the Captain and caught the severity in his red eyes. The same red eyes. He looked human again, the wolf-like visage having reverted to that of a man.

It's a lie. Her gaze traveled upwards and landed on a couple locks of tousled hair above his right eye, pink and greasy-looking. You're a monster, just like the others. You're all the same. The Captain pushed himself off the bed and she scooted back until she felt the wall box her on two sides.

"Don't touch me!" She raised her voice in warning, gripping her arm where a shallow wound had healed. The shadows were gone…for now.

The Captain came to stand in front of her, tears and dark patches on his uniform marking where the shadows had stabbed him, but he did not appear to be bleeding out, and his movement and posture suggested he was not inhibited by any injuries. Without averting his gaze, he tossed the broken clipboard onto the bed, narrowly avoiding the bloodstain at her feet. Not far away from it lay his cap, ruined by the same slash that cleaved a corner of her pillow. He made no move to retrieve it, just as she made no move to pick up the clipboard.

He was strangling me. She didn't dare reach for her neck. He hit me. Harder than just a hit—he knocked her unconscious. Monster.

Amelia peered over her knees at the writing on the clipboard, glancing up at her guard as she read, in case the message was a distraction.

'What happens when you go to sleep?'

When she knew that he knew that she had read it and understood, she looked away with a bitter expression, wary, and said nothing. Several seconds passed and the Captain picked up the clipboard and wrote more, tossing it with more force onto the bed for her to see when he had finished.

'You're not just dreaming. I saw the eyes. Those shadows were not yours. You couldn't control them. You can't control your own.'

Despite the period ending each sentence, she was certain of the emotion behind each and every one; she could feel the anger radiating off the man, pricking her every time their eyes met. It was telling. His emotions weren't so easily concealed when his human appearance slipped. Or did he willingly shed it? Did he already suspect what was going on as she slept? And if he did, how could he know of such things? She remained silent, bothered by her own questions.

The Captain snatched up the clipboard a second time, visibly agitated, and wrote something brief before flipping it around for her to read.

'Be quiet. Come with me.'

She barely had time to glimpse the instructions before he removed the used paper and stuffed it into a pocket. The clipboard was smacked down on the nightstand, hard, and the pen followed suit. Amelia stiffened at the display, shifting her legs and arms so that she would be able to move quickly if necessary.

When the Captain returned his attention to her, he extended his hand. The anger was still there.

She shuffled to the end of the bed, refusing his offer and trying to keep her distance, but it was easier to travel across the floor than over the bed, and when her feet touched the ground, the Captain was there, extending his hand once more.

Do you think I'm stupid? I would never take it. She felt the blood crack along her joints as her hands curled into fists. He reached and she backed against the wall, giving him her shoulder. But he dropped his hand lower and took her bloody fist in his.

"What are you doing?" Her voice cracked in panic and she leaned back as he tugged her by the hand, expecting the shadows to manifest. His grip was strong; she couldn't open her fist. Whatever his plan, he was dead-set on seeing it through to the end. It scared her enough to reach for him, to think of fighting him off, but she stopped short of touching him, losing her resolve. He was the monster yet it was his blood on her hands.

Is this the way it should be? I could fight him a hundred or a thousand times… But I don't think I could kill him. The Captain used her hesitation to his advantage and tugged her again, and she stumbled into him, inhaling the stench of sweat and blood. It made her knees weak, and this time, when the Captain moved, she moved with him.

He led her out into the lab, then a few steps over to the restroom, and threw the door shut behind them, the sound making Amelia shake. Her body became heavy as stone, muscles straining against his. Bit by bit, her sock-clad feet began to slide on the tile, the fabric not creating enough friction to keep her in place.

After a few seconds of silent resistance the Captain let go of her hand, and her fingers flexed outwards instinctively, relishing their freedom. His next move came swift and rough, his arm wrapping around her middle and hoisting her upward so that her body was draped over the crook of his elbow, effectively pinning her to his side. She grunted in discomfort as his forearm dug into her ribs with every step, and reached for his coat—or anything else—that might steady her. But their trip was short, and before she could secure a hand-hold, he deposited her on her feet in one of the shower stalls.

Without warning, a cascade of cold water beat down on her head and shoulders, immediately drenching her and drawing out a high-pitched yelp. Angling herself away from the spray, she turned her head towards the only exit and blinked through her blurry vision.

For a moment she shivered in the small cubicle, holding herself as the water slowly warmed against her skin, her gaze eventually rising to meet the Captain's. Scared and angry, she pulled the best glare she could manage with rivulets running down from the hair plastered across her forehead.

I hate you. She would choke on the words before she delivered them the way she wanted. Her clothing clung to her like a second layer of skin as the shower continued to pelt her shoulder, white taking on a pink hue as water and blood mixed.

I hate you.

The Captain yanked the shower curtain sideways, plastic hooks rattling over the metal bar as he drew a translucent barrier between them. She continued to glare at the space where his face had been, watching as his figure retreated, his silhouette lightening as he stepped back from the curtain. Her expression pinched, eyes detecting the faint outline of the man on the other side, and then it splintered completely, exposing the fragility beneath.

She held in the small sob that shook her, pressing her knuckles against her eyelids as her shoulders began to hunch forward. What do I do? What am I going to do? She sniffed and peeled off her soaked t-shirt, molding it in her hands like a snowball. I'll throw this at him. He'll be so disgusted he won't come near me for a week. The bundled shirt hit the floor with a heavy splat.

She tore off her undershirt and threw it on the ground, the force of impact strangely satisfying. The rest of her clothes met the same fate, and then she was left naked with nothing but a pile of soiled fabric at her feet. The stains would need bleaching. The rips would need mending. But the blood chipped off her skin easily under the water pressure, revealing no scars or traces of injury.

What have I done? What am I going to do? He knows; I'm sure the Captain knows about Alucard. And he'll tell the doctor, and then everyone will know. And the state of her room: there was no dismissing that. She couldn't hide any of it. I shouldn't have gone to him. I shouldn't have let him convince me to invite him in. I knew I was unprepared and I still went along with it…!

Alucard… She clenched her jaw, the name snaking through her thoughts.

Alucard! Her mind screamed with all the resentment and desperation and disappointment and pain that she could never reveal to him in person.

She drunk in the silence punctuated only by the patter of water on the floor.

Aren't you there?

Alucard tightened his grip. He could feel the young woman slipping, her essence mingling with his yet trickling away, as if his shadows were a cracked surface she could pass through with ease.

"I'm here." He wondered if she knew it—if she could feel him the way he felt her. There came a tug at his center, sharp and unrelenting: a warning of what was to come as he extended his shadows as far as they would reach, bright eyes searching. Whether she meant to or not, he felt her begin to push back in earnest, her body and mind grappling with him for control.

He couldn't manifest.

His shadows touched the doorframe when a man appeared.

And then she let go.

The vampire growled as their link severed, glaring at the intruder he believed was responsible as his shadows drew back, flooding his mind with sensory information. He took in everything in an instant, in the time it took to blink and find himself returned to the comfort of his own underground chambers.

Artificial lights shone dimly above his head—for the benefit of the other, not undead members of Hellsing. Compared to the nightscape he had been visiting and the dark of the young woman's accommodations, they were garish and unpleasant, and in less than a second he made up his mind to leave the cool shelter of the basement.

The warm lights of the manor's interior hallways were no better, and he avoided those corridors lined with windows open to the afternoon sun. He slithered from one floor to the next as a black brushstroke, hugging corners and lurking in the shadows like a predatory animal when a staff member appeared, following them with his eyes until they were out of sight. This stealthy method of travel suited him just fine; he didn't want to be noticed yet. It gave him time to think before he arrived at his destination.

He hadn't been able to manifest, even after being invited in. It was unnatural. Such a bridge was easy to construct and use between master and servant, and especially in the case of a familiar, but…Amelia Harker was not one of those things. She was unnatural. And if she did not fill any one of those roles, what was the nature of their relationship? Did it make them more or less?

He stepped onto the floor, his shadow peeling away from the wall with him as he walked to a pair of heavy wooden doors. As if a wind blew through the hall, the shadow clinging to his back swept to the front of his body, licking at the barrier. His shadow sunk into the painted woodwork, leading the way for him.

Alucard.

The vampire stilled just as his shadow did, listening. The voice was softer than a whisper; it spoke his name on a far-away breath. And it did not come again.

A glazed look clouded Alucard's eyes and his shadow slowly curled inwards as he let his mind reach out, feeling in search of something familiar.

But Amelia Harker was not there.