Thank you guys for the reviews and favorites, and for being dedicated readers!

The road's been long, but you know what? I think we're actually half way through this story. *collapses like a bunch of broccoli*

I do not own Hellsing.

Please read, review, and enjoy! : )

Amelia read and re-read the page, the words ringing louder in her head until they reached a deafening note. Eventually she stopped reading, the handwriting blurring, letters swimming until they merged into strange shapes.

"No." The sound of her own voice brought her thoughts back. "No," she repeated, with a little more conviction, and tore the page out. "Take it back." She thrust the notepad at the Captain, pressed it against his chest for a second and then let it drop to the floor, quickly pulling her hand away in case he tried to grab her again. "You can't say this. You can't say this about me. You can't say this about me." The detached page crumpled easily in her hands as she squeezed it. She almost threw it at him when she was finished, but thought better of it.

"This is not a miracle, it's a curse. It's a disease." To her chagrin, the Captain did not budge when she flung the wadded paper over his shoulder. "I was managing. I was sorting my life out when you lot kidnapped me and did this to me. You did this. And I didn't want it—I still don't want it!" In an instant she was on her feet, prepared to storm out of the room. Thinking the Captain was going to snatch at her arm, she took a few extra steps around him, and found that the slightest of detours provided him with enough time to come between her and the exit.

Why? He did not grab her; he was holding the pencil and notepad again. What was there to say to him that hadn't already been said?

"You're so selfish," she hissed under her breath, the accusation not buying her enough time to come up with a solution to the challenge in front of her.

"I'm not going to read it." The hand holding the pencil paused on paper. "I'm not going to read it because you're selfish and it's cruel. You even admit it! And then that." She pointed in the direction of the crumpled paper on the floor. "That's a suicide note, a—!" Amelia faltered, stumbling backwards as the Captain's hand occupied the space where her head was less than a second prior. The pencil clattered on tile.

She was unable to evade him the second time.

His hand splayed across the lower half of her face, his palm pressed firmly against her lips, fingers digging into her jaw to keep her silent. He kept her at arms' length for several seconds, his head bent towards her but his attention somewhere else.

She had grabbed his wrist and forearm, curling her own fingers tightly around him, but made no other move to fend him off. Her eyes burned. All she heard was the rush of blood in her ears as adrenaline raced through her veins, and she could swear she felt the tremor of her heart beating against her ribcage throughout her entire body.

Another few beats and the Captain snapped out of whatever trance he was in, shaking his head at her. Amelia watched him, mute.

Why is he upset? Because I called that message a 'suicide note' or because I said he was selfish? Because I'm angry? Because I said I wouldn't read his note? Because I don't want to talk to him? He loosened his hand, shook his head once more for emphasis, and let go of her.

Immediately she stepped away from his threatening figure, her own hands releasing his arm and moving to her face to gently touch her cheeks and jaw. Nothing felt swollen, but that did not mean there was no pain.

"It hurts," she said, quietly, in case he challenged her temper. She let her hands drop to her sides. "I'm sure you know? When you grab me, or, or hit me," her voice wavered, "it still hurts. Even if it heals fast. And maybe you don't care—maybe no one cares, because you don't remember what it feels like, because you don't feel it anymore." She pinched the long cuffs of her sleeves, making an effort to not scrunch her hands into fists. "But I want you to know: I still feel it. Pain. Hurt. Whatever you want to call it. Just because you don't feel it doesn't mean it isn't there. And there…" The thought was already on the tracks, almost passed her lips.

If she tried to derail it…

If she kept on-course…

"One day, before you're ready, before you fight your war… Maybe I'll be tired of hurting. Maybe I'll decide to stop the pain once and for all. Who knows?" she gave a small, tense shrug; a failed attempt at indifference. "Maybe that'll be enough to hurt you?"

Surely it was only her imagination that the temperature dropped several degrees in the room, and that oxygen was suddenly in short supply. She finally looked up, something she had not dared to do despite speaking so boldly. The rapid rise and fall of her chest was a stark contrast to the Captain's uncanny stillness. If she was the manifestation of life, then he was death incarnate, soon to swallow her whole. Or so she thought as he stepped forward, feeling smaller and more insignificant as the space between them closed.

I really can't tell if it's the man or the wolf, her thoughts flittered while her gaze settled on his eyes. Either one might kill me before I get the chance… She tilted her head back and her mind quieted.

The Captain did not remain still again for long. In her peripheral vision she saw his arm move, but she maintained eye contact and waited, ready for the iron grip to close on her shoulder, the large fist to grab her by the shirt and drag her one way or the other, her feet tripping to catch up. There would be no need for words, because she would speak with her eyes.

You see? It's right here. I was right. Her fingers stopped fidgeting with her cuffs.

It hurts. I was right. I was right. I was right. She did not let her expression betray her.

I was right. I was right. I was right.

She couldn't stop herself.

She looked down and saw her hand in his—her pale, clammy fingers curling in towards the point of contact. Warmth radiated from his gloved palm, and she wiped her other hand against the dry fabric of her slacks.

No words were spoken.

Keeping their hands joined, the Captain took a couple steps back, taking her with him. When he guided her to sit on the floor at his side, she did not resist.

I was right. There was no triumph now, only certainty in the thought.

I haven't changed.

Amelia continued to stare at her hand and his, expressionless, until the notepad from before was passed to her. Her head tilted, her eyes reluctantly slipped towards the opened page, regarding it as if it was a distraction.

'It always hurts.'