Thank you to all of you who have stuck with this story and tolerated my infrequent and irregular updates. It means the world to me.
Originally, this chapter was going to be much longer, but with everything going on I've had less time, energy, and motivation to write. So, rather than take a year to update (being realistic here), I've decided to shorten the chapter and post what I have. This way I'll also be able to focus on this complicated next bit, which is quite important.
Please read, review, and enjoy! : )
I do not own Hellsing.
She was anticipating a journey to a foreign section of the aged bunker, a room she had never laid eyes on and might never see again, and so Amelia was both disappointed and relieved when she realized they were traveling back to the lab.
"We will see if Doc is awake, yet. And you can show off your uniform to the men cleaning inside—if they are still there!" The lieutenant thought aloud as the door slid open for them. The scent of chemicals saturated the air in the lab, and Amelia sniffed and cleared her throat, put off by the smell but too uneasy to voice her complaint. Better to have the place smell of bleach and disinfectant than the alternative. "And I'm sure the Major will want to see you as well. I think he'll laugh when he sees how much you match!" She rambled on, unconsciously switching to German in her excitement. A man—officer, Amelia supposed—pushed a wet mop along the floor between her room and the bathroom, doing a double-take when they drew closer.
"There you are." Everyone's attention diverted to the gangly doctor who had been camouflaged among the white cabinets and medical equipment. "Is this the new uniform?" His tone suggested he was unpleasantly surprised with her outfit. He cut the two of them off before they made it to Amelia's room, his frame blocking the officer's view.
"Ja…" began the lieutenant on an uncertain note, smile faltering as her gaze flickering between the doctor's expression and Amelia's clothes.
"It's supposed to be light grey!" he hissed, and snatched Amelia's rumpled coat from her hand. She let him take it, shuffling back a step and loosening her arm from the other woman's. "Did the Major do this? Did he change the color without telling me?"
"I do not know," squeaked the woman in purple as if she were to blame. "But she looks very nice, yes?"
"The sleeves and slacks are too long; I'll have to hem them." He stepped closer to Amelia, and she resisted the urge to take another step back. "White. White? You're already pale as a sheet, does he want to make a cadaver out of you?" A long finger pointed at her shirt collar. "Fasten—" he breached her personal space with his free hand, pinching one side of her button-down and then the other, turning and tugging the fabric incessantly. "There should be another button—two buttons, actually." Amelia barely had time to react when he dumped the coat back into her arms and examined her shirt as though he believed she was incapable of properly dressing herself.
She began to stammer, and the doctor looked away from her to fix his frown on her female companion. "I want to speak with the Major about this uniform, Lieutenant."
"I'm sorry if it's—"
"Tell him I'll be here."
"O-oh. I understand! I will call him. I will bring him!" Her first few steps backward were slow, unsure if she had been dismissed. On the fourth step, she spun and darted for the exit. Amelia craned her neck to watch her leave, contemplating whether she was afraid of or fancied the tall blonde.
"You can't walk around with your shirt open like this." Her head whipped back towards the doctor, who was attempting to wrestle the collar of her shirt closed the way she had, unsuccessfully, only minutes ago. The way he said it, one would think she was indecently exposing herself.
"I couldn't… There were no other buttons," she stated with a blank stare.
"Yes, well, don't leave the lab with your collar unfastened; put the coat on. We'll find a tie or something to keep it closed. And stay out of your room—there are still officers cleaning up your mess. 'The wandering male gaze' is a problem that I neither need nor want to sort out, now or any time."
Amelia blanched and looked down at the hands messing with her collar, her gaze subtly shifting lower to the patch of exposed skin below her clavicle. She had just been deemed a burden as much as an asset. Or was she a vulnerability? You need me and guard me and watch me and hurt me and provide for me and alienate me and control me. You make me feel unsafe in my own skin. So you'll mold me and suffocate me until I am everything and nothing at all in this den of wolves… She regretted the comparison the instant it crossed her mind, the memory of the white wolf baring down at her on the bed vivid enough to make her sway on her feet.
A hand left her collar to steady her by the shoulder.
"I need to sit. I have to sit." The closest seat was the chair behind the doctor's work desk, and she felt no remorse in prying herself from the physician to perch on something solid. Her body felt heavy as it collapsed onto the cushioned seat, overwhelmed. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, and buried her face in the coat in her arms.
God help me, I think I'm going to scream, and keep screaming, until my throat bleeds. It sounded like a reasonable thing to do.
Several seconds passed before a voice spoke from above. "Miss Harker."
No.
"Miss Harker, please roll up your sleeve."
I already said 'no.' A touch on the shoulder had her jerking suddenly in the chair, the wheels affixed to the legs allowing the movement to propel her further back.
"One sample," the doctor said, as if what he was asking for was not unreasonable; as if he didn't take blood from her veins every day; as if his own comment of her looking deathly pale was of no consequence. Her grip on the coat in her lap tightened and loosened. Doc had a sealed syringe in hand, and gave it a little wave to indicate she hurry up.
Amelia unbuttoned her left cuff and pushed the material up from her forearm, raising her gaze when she presented her inner arm. She continued staring at the doctor, didn't even blink, when the alcohol wipe chilled her skin. The cap came off the needle with a small pop and Doc paused, scanning her face. There was a comment behind his lips, and after a few seconds of deliberation, he decided to keep it bottled, his blue eyes breaking from her stare. He bent down and focused on his work, speaking softly only when the needle broke skin.
"I heard there was an incident earlier, saw the state of your room before they started cleaning. What happened?" Amelia finally looked away and noticed the attire hiding beneath his lab coat: loose pants tied at the waist, a sleeveless, wrinkled shirt that somehow made him look even more skeletal… She was almost disappointed to see shoes on his feet instead of slippers.
"I remember waking up from a bad dream. It was dark and I couldn't move. And…" Her voice caught.
And there was a man in my bed. There was a monster on top of me.
"And he…" Disgust and fear momentarily robbed her of the words she needed, and so she went silent. Doc did not speak as he removed the needle and dealt with the sample.
Amelia looked at the unmarred skin of her forearm, white and smooth without a trace of blood. She made no move to adjust her sleeve. Only when the doctor swiped a fingertip over the crook of her arm did she break out of her trance, tilting her head up at him.
"Did the Captain hurt you?" He sounded doubtful as he examined the tip of his glove.
She finally pulled her arm away and hugged it against her abdomen, feeling queasy. "He… He isn't human."
"No, he isn't," said the man in a casual tone, leaning against the desk. "So he frightened you?"
"He had me pinned down on the bed." Without realizing it, her voice raised an octave, words sharpened by anger and disbelief. "What do you think?" She could feel a tirade coming—or, more likely, an emotional breakdown—working its way up from her gut, constricting her chest, shortening her breath.
As if sensing this, the doctor interrupted before she could begin in earnest. "I know that the Captain does not act without purpose. He has survived this long because of his intelligence, because of his self-discipline, not something as fragile and fickle as luck. He has been a part of Millennium since its inception and I have studied him for decades. I trust his instincts." His voice had lowered to a growl. "Therefore, Miss Harker, I think you gave him reason to perceive you as a threat, and he acted accordingly." Blonde hair dangled just above her head, casting a shadow over her face and his, his bright eyes gleaming behind several pairs of lens. She glared back.
Swiveling in the chair to face him fully, she abruptly stood, watching him straighten, his expression unchanged but eyes wary. She didn't even realize the coat had fallen from her lap to her feet.
"Look at me, Doctor," she demanded in an even tone through a clenched jaw, her body language revealing she was anything but calm, "and tell me you're not responsible—that you have nothing to do with that." Her molars ground together when the tall man said nothing, the air coming alive around them with something invisible and dense.
Are you just a human? sounded an echo in her head, faint and detached. It took Amelia a moment to realize the question was directed at the man standing in front of her, and another few seconds to recognize the unspoken threat behind it.
The lab door hissed.
That's not me.
Both she and the doctor turned at the intrusion.
I swear, that's not me.
"I was expecting the Major. What are you doing back down here? I thought you were resting?" The Captain glanced at Doc, nodded, and then pointed at her, his determined stride bringing him closer to the pair. He bent his arm slightly, indicating himself, pointed at her a second time and then at her room.
"What? Captain, I… You can't be serious? I am capable of interrogating her myself. As I'm sure you're aware, she's quite distraught. I don't think this is a good idea…"
Amelia felt cold all over. She stooped to pick up her coat on the floor, wanting to be out of sight for even a fleeting moment. Crouched low, she worked to fold the fabric neatly, finishing the task much too quickly without enough time to fully compose herself. When she stood up again, the Captain pointed at her and drew a line to her room.
The doctor sighed heavily. "They aren't finished cleaning up." No sooner did the excuse leave his mouth that a pair of officers shuffled out of the bedroom carrying a ripped and stained mattress between them, slowing down when they noticed three pairs of eyes on them. The Captain gestured and without a word, the two hurried towards the exit, trying not to stumble in their haste to leave. The officer with the mop dunked the dirty head in the pink water and followed them out, his comment barely audible as he passed. Doc opened and closed his mouth.
At last, he crossed his arms and grumbled. "Fine. But I still intend to speak with her about this later. And with you, too." He looked pointedly at the white-haired man.
"Do try to avoid making another mess." As he turned his back on them, he caught Amelia's eye, one corner of his mouth twitching to resemble something far from a grin. Her pulse flared along with her temper, her eyes widening a fraction as she imagined throwing her arms out towards the doctor's narrow back, putting all of her weight behind a shove. What would happen if the shadows appeared around her, sharp edges and inhuman strength colliding with that narrow frame. She swallowed heavily and did not move, her eyes glued to the doctor's retreating form.
A scrape on tile alerted her to movement farther in the room, and her head snapped to the right, observing the Captain with a stool in his hand. He made no gesture, no motion, just stood next to the open door, waiting for her.
I am not myself. She hugged the coat to her chest and ducked her head, stepping softly across the floor, every sense on alert as approached the Captain. She passed him and walked into the room without incident, the hairs on the back of her neck rising as the door shut behind her.