A/N: So...I kinda couldn't help myself. I hope anyone who stumbles over this enjoys it.


Her master once told her that vampires did not suffer from any such a malady as night terrors. Seras had come to agree with him. Unlike nightmares, imagined fancies of insubstantial quality more apt to befuddle and dismay, memories had a way of twisting into one's very soul, the stain of their power everlasting. After so many years, the exact expression on her mother's face, frozen in terror, mouth gaping and unseeing eyes staring at hers, during that precise moment, still stood in sharp relief to all else; the insurmountable horror of it all preserved as though in amber. Her own pain as the bullet broke skin and tore into flesh, burrowing deeply within her, was as nothing to that; what a curious thing the mind was. At least she no longer wept when awaking from such dreams, for whatever that was worth.

Were she still alive, her heart would have pounded away within her chest. Unconsciously, a steady limb rose until her palm was resting just above her heart, eyes darting towards a superfluous clock hanging on the wall. Her body knew all too well that the sun yet dominated the skies. She should have slept in her coffin, she thought rather bleary yet. Rising her other hand as well, she used it to rub at the back of her neck in what should have been a comforting motion. A swiftly beating heart might have helped her dispel the tension as it settled. Her unchanging body, however, merely frustrated any effort on her part to vent in such a fashion.

Seras closed her eyes for a moment entirely aware of the gentle shift within her own mind. She allowed herself a small smile as the mattress dipped with the addition of more weight. "Police girl, it is too early in the day to stir about." Nevertheless, he had come to her. Opening herself to him more, she allowed the brush of their minds to prolong and deepen, the swell of pleasure within her proclaiming the rightness of the choice. It had been far too long. Far too long indeed. Her master's voice crooned within the darkness of her own head, the ripple of his voice raising the hairs on the back of her neck even as it coated her insides with something altogether hard to describe.

"I did not mean to disturb your rest," she told him, just for the record. "I've not had this particular memory intrude upon my sleep of late." She wondered briefly if he had taken it in as well, the scene. She opened her eyes, lowering them from his face with the demureness of a supplicant before a mighty god. If her awe was quite as transparent to him as it was to her Seras didn't know. She didn't want to know. Thirty years of absence had twisted the fledgling trepidation and fondness of a child beyond all recognition. She had spoken to him constantly in her mind because she had needed him there with her and throughout her unwavering trust in his return, something entirely different had been cemented in her heart.

Longing.

The word tasted bitter on her tongue, like so much ash forced down her throat. It was natural enough, she expected; she often longed for her parents in the orphanage. But it wasn't a father figure she sought in her master; or it wasn't that entirely, even if at times he did rather put her in the mind of an intransigent parent never quite pleased with their child's performance. Rather, Seras wanted someone like her. Someone who understood. And who else but the creature that had made her in his image might fulfil that need? Making the barest of sounds in the back of her throat, she offered a silent apology. I don't wish to keep you, Master. As if to prove her point, she lowered herself back onto the mattress, registering no longer than a moment's surprise when he followed down that path.

As a newborn fledgling, she had made her way to his coffin a few times. And he had allowed it; she assumed it was much in the same way a parent allowed their child the comfort of a warm embrace during a long night when the cracking of branches and the hooting of owls proved itself fuel for unknown terrors. But never once had he sought to commandeer her sleeping arrangements similarly. All the same, his long form took up space on her bed, more or less forcing her body to move backwards and against the wall, unless she wished to refuse his presence. Hesitantly, she eyed him as he was, lying on his back, staring at the ceiling.

"Thank you," she whispered, reaching out to touch his shoulder. Her body curled inwards, as if her extremities were doing their level best to tug her into his side. Seras thought she heard Pip stir within the confines of her mind then, but soothed him back into rest and closed her eyes against the unfamiliar desire. It was because she had not seen him in so long. She had missed him. Naturally she would wish for closeness.

Seras felt the press of his mind upon her own and gave in without the slightest of oppositions. Tendrils of pure darkness seemed to crawls along the space she allowed, swallowing everything in their path. Pleased with the effect it had upon her, she relaxed and gave into the somnolent demands of her body. Sleep. For now. It was equally heartening to know her master had plans for her; why else should he add the last part.

Sleep. She agreed. Submerged once more under the waters of restful slumber, she did not even notice her grip tightening on his shoulder or the fact that far from loosening her fingers once she would not take note of it, he only closed his eyes to the world, fully ready to sink in with her. She would not have known what to make of it anyway at such a point.

When she awoke it was to an empty bed, save for her own body. Stomach gurgling with hunger, she eased her way off the mattress, looking about in an almost hopeful manner. But it was not to be. And as it was to be her night off as well, she did not even have the hope of some mishap forcing them into each other's path. Pip commiserated with her as best he could, and what he offered settled her some. Of course, she had to remember that her master had another guiding star altogether. It would not do to let herself be so very affected by his return. Shaking away any and all hints of doldrums, she went about straightening her sheets and replacing the pillows on the bed, before preparing herself carefully for the outing she had long since planned.

It took very little power these days to freshen up and an even smaller amount to materialise clothing onto herself. Nevertheless, she still did all that before a mirror, more so she might see it with her own eyes. The girl in the looking glass smiled at her, a bright cheerful grin affixed to her pale visage. Still, she looked well enough, Seras contemplated, leaning in until her fingertips met smooth glass. Her counterpart had drawn closer as well, strands of pale blonde hair falling forth. She was glad she'd allowed it to grow out some if she did say so herself. Happy enough with the results of her scrutiny, she pronounced herself ready to leave as soon as her feet found their way into a pair of flats. Such shoes did nothing for height, but then she would be walking a fair amount, as she always did on such occasions. The Lord knew there were more than enough streets to tire even her out.

The soldiers greeted her as she passed by and she returned that with a small wave of her own. Most of them were part of a new batch; she had had some interaction with them during the selection process. And even more interaction when she trained them twice a week; Monday bright and early and Thursdays, a little less bright and early. She passed by one Andrew Phelps just at the door and he saluted rather than give her words. Pip's agreement with the man's actions almost wrested a smile from her. His comment with regards to the respected she was owed had her redoubling her efforts to keep a neutral expression. She nevertheless managed to escape, out the door and onto the path leading away towards the great gates of the estate.

Seras eyed the heavy moon hanging abovehead and smiled, feeling a sharp fang press against thin skin. Her lips would not suffer undue harm, however. They hadn't in such a long time. Grin widening at the thought, she meandered along, following the thin ribbon of paved road. The lawn stretching out before her was verdant and trim, the work of careful hands ; she enjoyed very much the way ghostly moonlight glistened over blades of grass and tiny bushes. Nature changed, unlike herself and it fascinated her to watch the slow pitch towards death it took only to return again and again. She walked and walked, comfortable enough in the routine of it all. Solitude was a given.

Even when master had first turned her, it was she who'd had need of him and not the other way around; it was she who sought him out, whenever she managed to brave her cowardly inclinations and it remained she who ran to him until his untimely disappearance. She was used to the isolation. And the fact she knew he would be there, in the Hellsing mansion upon her return left her a great deal happier than she had been in the past three decades. Her feet carried her to her usual venue, a criss-cross of mostly deserted streets. Seras kept her pace even and slow. In another life, she would have been shaking with repressed fear. In another life, she mused, lifting her face to grin at the partially obscured moon, hidden by the tall, broad body of a dilapidated building.

A soft sound from somewhere ahead caught her attention. Expanding her senses, Seras could make out the frantic beating of hearts along with harsh breathing. Cocking her head to the side, she took a moment to decide whether she ought to interfere. Largely, Sir Integra allowed her these outings with the express understanding that she would not reveal the truth of her existence to the outside world. Like a child of the Victorian times, she was to remain unobtrusive, unseen and unheard unless specifically requested by the adults governing their every movement. She took an uncertain step forth just as a shriek rent through the deserted space, swiftly repressed within a moment. A heavy groan followed.

If Sir Integra decided she had acted out of order, she would be punished, but at least her conscience would be clean. Seras broke out in a run, her feet eating away at the distance between her and what hat to be some instance of assault. She came upon a vaguely familiar scene. A man, not very tall, barely standing above her own petite height, was bent over what looked to be an injured young woman. She caught him in the middle of delivering quite the vile threat.

Without further thought, she leaped into action, grabbing his arm and twisting it behind him, closing her ears to both his cry of pain and the woman's scream of terror. Her left arm crossed to settle against his throat, tugging him into her with just enough force to make breathing uncomfortable. Her victim, stunned and disoriented in no small measure, struggled fruitlessly in a bid to escape. She would not allow him such a victory though and merely rammed his head into the nearest wall, knocking him clean out with the force of the blow. He went limp in her arms, his weight seeming to double. Seras let his drop, turning to look at the woman.

Only, it was no woman. Rather, huddled against the wall, curled up into herself, sobbing, was a girl. A young girl if she wasn't mistaken, not yet even done with her studies from the looks of it. The grey skirt of her school uniform had been smeared with dirt and dark streaks were smudged against the skin of her leg. Seras could smell no blood, thus assumed the girl hadn't been bodily injured beyond being a bit roughened up. Her training as a law enforcement operative kicked in as she knelt in front of the frightened child. "Miss, we can't remain here," she said, keeping her voice flat so as to not startle the poor thing. "We have to get up now. Can you stand?"

The weeping dulled to weary sniffling, but a dark head of hair bobbed up and down. Seras nodded back. "I will help you up." She pushed away from the ground and held her hand out. It took the other a moment to grip her hand, the hold clammy and slightly unpleasant. She'd forgotten just how warm humans could be to the touch. If the girl thought anything of her cool touch in turn, she said nothing. Carefully, she led the both of them away from the unconscious man. He would be out cold for some time and though she might have contemplated feeding on the bastard under different circumstances, she refused to leave a scared girl alone to fend for herself. At least she would lead her to the nearest inhabited area. "Say, do you have a name?"

"Poppy Collins," a squeaky voice replied. To her surprise, Poppy was quite tall, towering over Seras in what would have surely been a comical sight in a more relaxed environment.

"That's a right pretty name you have, Miss Collins" she answered, allowing her voice to soften. "I'm–" Before she got the change to go any further several voices intruded upon the newly restored silence of the narrow street. A few figures emerged from around the corner furthest ahead, all calling out to Poppy.

Seras drew back from the girl, keeping a steadying hand only to save her from crashing to the ground. Still, she had to admit she was happy enough the child had family to look after her. Smiling up into her face, she noted for the first time a pair of sunken hazel eyes. "Poppy, there you are!" A man, tall and rangy, drew abreast of them both, placing a hand on Poppy's shoulder.

"Pat. She saved my life." Pat, of unknown connection to Poppy, stared at Seras, his thin face the colour of tallow. "There's a man back there, in the alley. She left him flat on the ground."

"That means you saved my sister." It was as he spoke those words that the other two finally reached them. The first was an older woman, younger than Sir Integra by the looks of her, but well beyond the first blush of youth. The other was a man in the later stage of his life. "Patrick Collins," he held his hand out; Seras shook it briefly. She did not miss the elderly man trudging to the unconscious scum she'd left lying on the filthy ground.

"She sure did a good number on him." The words were low. The other didn't even hear them. But Seras did and she froze, hairs rising on the back of her neck for an entirely different reason than feeling her master's presence close by. She knew that voice. She'd heard it before. She'd heard it for years and years and years, mocking her, taunting her with grunts and groans of completion as its owner savaged the cooling body of her beloved mother. She just knew; there was no mistaking it.

"This is my mother, Amanda." Amanda Collins had moved to her daughter's side, grabbing hold of her protectively, speaking to the man in the alley, calling him father of all things. That piece of human refuse had fathered a daughter; he had gone on to live a good life after what he'd done. She wanted to scream. She wanted to turn on her heel and eviscerate him where he stood, witnesses or no witnesses. But she couldn't. There were witnesses. She had promised not to stand out. She would not be the only one punished, she was certain.

Seras knew she couldn't be selfish. They'd never caught the two bastards who had broken into their home and gunned down her parents. She had no evidence and no way of acquiring said evidence. Glancing over her shoulder, she bit back a threatening growl as he emerged from the darkness. Three dots of scarred flesh from where she'd stabbed him with a fork. He looked no more threatening than any old man. "Practice at some club, do you?" He reached out his hand and it was all she could do not to rip the damned arm out of its socket and beat him to death with it. But that she couldn't do. Not unless she wanted to have Sir Integra ordered her ripped apart by her newly returned master.

"Something like that," she responded, not knowing whether she came off as cold or merely flat. She shook his hand.

"Maurice Collins. Thank you for saving my little granddaughter here." God, even his name made her want to hit him.

On a whim, unable to contain herself, she answered in a rather dangerous way. "Seras Victoria." She expected some haziness to his gaze, perhaps a flicker of fear. Even something in the vein of defiance; but the man merely nodded, as though the name meant nothing to him. As though he couldn't even remember the family he'd murdered in cold blood, the woman whose corpse he'd desecrate because she was still warm. She had to leave; she had to get away before she did something she couldn't take back. "Excuse me," she spoke softly, "you'll have to take care of this on your own. I'm expected elsewhere."

She took off without a glance back, using but a fraction of her speed while she was still in sight. Only after she managed to find her way back into empty streets, did she force her legs to greater and greater efforts until she stood on the steps of the manor, face in her hands. Finally a name; she finally had a name but no chance of revenge and no hope of a chance either. Frustration crawled its way up her throat as distress mounted. Her shadow had been trembling and shaking, jittery in a way that told her Pip was ever so attuned to her sorrow. She would put it from her mind, as there was nothing she could do. Mind made up, she took a deep unnecessary breath.

Strengthening her mental shields, Seras phased back into her bedroom. A couple of blood packs had been left for on the desk pressed up against the wall, along with a note. She picked up one of the packs, biting into it. Cold, stale blood rushed past her lips and down her throat with every suckling motion. Her other hand reached for the note. So Grant truly had looked for what she'd asked; she had to admit the man was doing well enough in his duties as butler, even if he did have a tendency of shying away from her whenever they were in company and forever looking at the ground. Date and time confirmed, Seras had only to hope no disaster of great proportions ruined her plans. One blood pack down and she was feeling slightly better; how odd that vampires and humans should share such a trait. Food truly did solve all problems. Seras replaced the note.

She reached for the second pack, narrowly missing grabbing hold as her senses screamed of danger. She flew back, glaring at the wall where her master hovered. "Never tell me you've grow even more lily-livered during my absence."

"You startled me, master," she ground out past her fraying nerves. Moving closer in, she snatched up her small pack of sustenance and bit down into it.

"Oddly enough, police girl, it seemed to me you reeked of fear long before I," he paused long enough to cock his head to the side, "err, startled you, wasn't it?" She glared at his obvious mocking of her and continued to drink her blood. Idly he reached out for her note, turning it to and fro before her mind caught onto what he was doing.

When it finally dawned on her that her privacy was being violated before her eyes in so obvious a fashion, she had to protest. "That is mine, my master, and certainly no business of yours." She held her hand out for the piece of paper, fingers moving in a demanding motion.

"Keeping secrets from your master, are you?" She blinked uncertainly, wondering if it was worth explaining once more that correspondence of any and all kind she exchanged with any and all individuals were not and would never be his concern.

"Hardly." All the same, she would rather not disclose every single recreational activity she partook in to him.


A/N: Here's to hoping I didn't botch it too badly...