Author's Notes: I like Walter and Seras, but somehow, I don't think they'd get along if they met as children.
Also, due to technical difficulties, this is now a two-shot rather than a one-shot. Enjoy.
Disclaimer: I do not own Hellsing.
The first time Walter ever met Seras, he thought that she was a brat and couldn't stand her. He walked into one of the many spare rooms in the Hellsing mansion and went to change the sheets, since his master was an inconsiderate playboy and a slob, when he noticed that the wardrobe on the opposite wall was rattling. Immediately his muscles tensed, his eyes narrowed, he pulled out his wires and clenched them between his teeth as he approached said wardrobe; it continued to rattle heavily even when he touched it. But when he opened it, a little girl with messy blonde hair sprung out in such a whirwind of kicks and fists that even he was had to jump back.
She landed with an unceremonious FLOP! and Walter sweat-dropped. Clearly, not a vampire.
"It's about time you let me out!" she cried, springing up, "I was in that thing all night!"
"Who are you and how did you get into my master's home?" Walter demanded.
"Idiot, this is my house!" the girl snapped, "If anything, you should tell me why you're here!"
"Fat chance," Walter smirked, "Do you know what we do to intruders here at the Hellsing Organization?"
"Pfft! You can't do anything to me," the girl spat, "Since this is my house, my daddy's a police officer and he'll throw you in jail!"
"I'd like to see your daddy try," Walter said, "Since this isn't your house, and I don't go easy on intruders."
"TOUCH ME AND I'LL BITE YOUR NOSE OFF!"
By the time Sir Hellsing and his friend Sir Irons came in from the drawing room to see what all the commotion was about, they found the rather peculiar sight of the infamous "Angel of Death" Walter C. Dornez caught up in the middle of an average chilsren's fight with a blond youth, who was trying to punch and wrestle him to the ground to no avail.
"Um. . . Dare I ask what's going on?" Sir Irons ventured.
"Walter, happy as I am that you're finally learning how to be a man," Sir Hellsing said, "I'd rather prefered it would be with a girl and not this. . . whelp."
"You idiot! It's not like that," Walter spat, and grabbed her by the hair, "This bratty half-pint bitch broke into our mansion and claims its her house."
"Wait," Sir Hellsing said, blinking, "you're saying this is a girl?"
"OW!" the girl screamed, and elbowed Walter in the face, "Of course I am!"
"Oh!" Sir Hellsing exclaimed, relieved, "Well in that case, I'll leave you to it then . ." but at that moment Walter pulled out his wires, and Sir Hellsing and Sir Irons had to pull the two children apart to keep Walter from killing the girl. They were determined to fight each other, however, and kept trying to charge the other one anyway.
"You two do realize that I'm the one in charge of this mansion," Sir Hellsing said, "And that you're fighting in my home?"
"Are you people stupid?" the girl screamed, struggling against Sir Irons' hold. "Why do you keep calling this a 'mansion' when it's clearly. . ."
For the first time she took a good look around the room and found that it was, indeed, richly decorated and not at all familiar.
"AAAAAAAAAAH! THIS ISN'T MY HOUSE!" the girl screamed. "WHO ARE YOU PEOPLE AND WHY DID YOU KIDNAP ME?"
Sir Hellsing and Sir Irons sighed heavily, but Walter hissed, "Can I kill her now?"
Fast forward to a few hours later and the four were drinking tea in the drawing room. The girl was sitting alone on the sofa with such a dirty, sullen look that neither Sir Hellsing nor Sir Irons, each of whom sat across from her, dared to speak, and so all they heard was the grandfather clock ticking. Walter stood leaning against the sofa with his arms crossed, Sir Irons was nervously sipping his tea, and Sir Hellsing was shamelessly making a pass at the maid who came to clear the used cups away, which earned him a violent rebuke from Walter.
Seras was mentally recording each of her kidnapper's appearances so she could describe them to her father later.
The ring leader looked absolutely repulsive; Seras hated him on first sight and just wanted to slap that arrogant grin off his smug face. His companion was much more to her liking. Though he was rather stern and serious, he held himself with a quiet confidence that Seras found very appealing (it also helped that he was very handsome.) The lad, Walter, stood somewhere in the middle of the spectrum; though he was unbelievably handsome and well-dressed (even more so than Sir Irons), he, too, was visibly rude and arrogant like his master, and so Seras could not like him.
"Would you like more tea, young lady?" Sir Irons offered politely.
"No, thank you," Seras said, blushing. His good manners rubbed off on her.
Once again they dove back into the same conversation that had gotten them nowhere for a few hours.
"Let's start with your name: what is it?"
"It's Seras," the girl said, "Seras Victoria."
"Where do you live?"
She told him her exact address down to the letter.
"And your phone number is. . . ?"
Seras told him the exact number from memory.
"And your father is a policeman, correct?"
"Correct."
"What station does he work for?"
"The Cheddar Village Police Force," Seras said, "And I'm sure they're all looking for me right now, so don't get any ideas."
"Wouldn't dream of it," he said with all seriousness. "Now, theoretically, if we were to call either of these phone numbers, your home or your father's work, there would be someone on the other end with the surname of 'Victoria,' correct?"
"Correct."
"The only problem with that," Sir Hellsing piped up suddenly, emptying the contents of a brandy bottle into his tea, "is that we've tried both numbers, and neither of them were successful. The phone number, the very address you have given, does not exist; and we have tried the Cheddar Police Force, and even allowed you to talk with the chief of police yourself, and there is no one by the name of 'Victoria' in service."
"That doesn't prove anything!" Seras snapped, "You could have called someone different and told them to tell me that."
"You think really highly of yourself, don't you?" Walter said nastily as he lit a cigarette, "Of course the reason there is no middle-aged man with the very masculine name of 'Victoria' on the police force is because we called the wrong number; Of course it cannot be because he simply isn't there; of course it cannot be because he simply does not exist. Nope, it cannot be that. Nope, it must be some big conspiracy from us, the evil hostages who went to all the trouble to steal some run-down old wardrobe from some run-down old village with you inside, and refuse to send you home, and we refuse to send you home because we're just that evil . . ."
"Quit talking like that," the girl snapped, "I know what I'm talking about!"
"Staying on topic," Sir Hellsing said firmly, "You did talk to the police chief, and the operator, on the phone, and found that the only person whose name came close to your own were was one 'Jason Victory.'"
"But it can't be him," Seras said, "Jason Victory was my grandfather."
"Indeed. . ." Sir Irons had a bad feeling about where this conversation was going.
"At any rate, it was him," Sir Hellsing said, "However, he claims to be unmarried, childless, and at the very young age of twenty-six."
"Well, then it must be a different person then," Seras said, "Because my grandfather was very old, and died when I was a very little girl."
"You are a very little girl," Walter snapped.
"So are you," Seras retorted.
"What?" Walter sprang up, but Sir Hellsing pushed him down.
"And what year was that, pray tell?"
"1984."
"Are you sure?"
"Sure I'm sure, that was the year my dad thought Big Brother might take over the world."
"'Big Brother?'" Walter scoffed, "Yeah, that's a name to run from real fast."
"Hey! it was a scary book!" Seras snapped.
"All right, let's stay on topic," Sir Irons said, "Are you positive that was the year your grandfather died?"
"Sure, I'm sure!"
"And, per chance, how old were you when that happened?"
"I think I was about four," Seras said slowly, "Yeah I was four."
"If that is so, then what year were you born?"
"1980!" Seras said.
"Uh huh. And what is today's date?"
"June 1st, 1988-no, wait, June 2nd, 1988."
"I see. . ."
There was a long, awkward pause from the gentlemen in the room. Sir Irons did not like where this conversation was going.
"Come on Sir Irons!" Walter cried, "You can't tell me you actually believe this pack of bullocks?"
"And you can't expect me to believe this is 1944?" Seras snapped, "Or that we're in the middle of the Second World War?"
"We do expect you to believe it," Walter said, "Because it's the truth. We have proof, we have dates, we have newpaper clippings, and you're some loony who escaped the bin."
"I'm not a loony!" Seras snapped, "I know what today's date is! If you're trying to get out of trouble for by claiming it's in a different time, my dad isn't going to believe you. . ."
"Wow, and here I thought you couldn't get any crazier," Walter said, "We give you proof with radio broadcasts and newspaper clippings, and you still insist we're lying? Either you're the worst liar in the world, or you're not only crazy, but stupid too. No amount of shock treatment is going to cure what you have. . ."
Seras tried to punch Walter in the face, but he easily caught her fist with his hand, and it took several minutes for Sir Hellsing and Sir Irons to pull the angry children apart, but eventually they settled down and sat on two different couches with their respective adults.
"Let's stay on topic, shall we?" Sir Irons said again, straightening his glasses.
"I just want to go home!" Seras said, with tears in her eyes.
"And we want nothing more than to send you home," Walter snapped, "You two-bit cross-dresser!"
"What my good friend's butler is trying to say," Sir Irons said, "Is that we are doing everything in our power to get to the bottom of this and send you home, but this. . . time frame you have given us is making that ecceedingly difficult, and you really must be patient with us."
At the words "time frame," Sir Hellsing, who had been uncharacteristically quiet up until now, suddenly shot up.
"Of course!" he exclaimed, and snapped his fingers, "You said you crawled into the wardrobe the night before?"
"Yes," Seras sniffed, "I was playing hide-and-seek."
"And then you ended up here?"
"Well yes," Seras said, "That's what you get for stealing someone's wardrobe without looking to see what's inside."
"My dear, the problem with that accusation is that we didn't steal it (though we would be much obliged to give it back to you if we had)," Sir Hellsing said. "That old thing has been in the spare room since God knows when, and we've had that old thing forever. No one knows how it got there, it just did. (Rather plain and ordinary, I'd give it up in a hare's breath), but look here; you said so yourself that you were in that thing all night, but nobody heard your cries, answered your calls, or let you out until Walter here unlocked it this morning?"
"Yes," Seras said sullenly, "So?"
"Does the wardrobe in your house resemble the one here?"
"Yes, it's the exact same one."
"And how can you be sure?"
"Because it's filled with my parents' stuff." So saying, they all travelled to the offending wardrobe, and Seras opened the doors to reveal the many smart coats inside, and pointed them all out. "See? Those shoes belong to my dad, that pink one belongs to my mum, that one is his, that one is hers; I don't know whose that is; but that one belongs to me mum!"
"All right, now I know you're making this up," Walter said.
"I am not!" the girl snapped.
"Perhaps it really is the same one," Sir Hellsing said.
"Are you serious?" Walter said, exasperately.
"I don't like where you're going with this, Arthur," Sir Irons said sternly.
"Of course, the only logical explanation is that it is the very same wardrobe," Sir Hellsing said. "She entered this very wardrobe, and exited the same wardrobe, at two different times. Only instead of exiting the same wardrobe the night after she entered it, she exited the same wardrobe the night after many years before she entered it. Forty-four years, to be exact."
"Forty-four years?" Walter said, and you could swear you saw dancing skulls around him. "Isn't that . . . a bit of an odd number?"
"Not at all, it is quite an even number: you see, forty-four devided by two equals. . ."
"I know what even means!" Walter snapped, "I mean, of all numbers, wouldn't it go with a better one; say, 50?"
"What are neurologically pleasing numbers," Sir Hellsing said, "To a hunk of wood? I imagine they don't give a fig for all that sort of thing. If you really must go by neurologically pleasing numbers, I imagine it is exactly forty-four years, forty-four weeks, forty-four days, forty-four hours, forty-four minutes and forty-four seconds to the pico that thing travels (though I really can't be sure, I have to check my calculations). But you see, just as that lad in that book I found in this very wardrobe some years before was able to send a radio signal to the exact same radio some years before to rescue his father from burning in that tragic fire (a very good read, I might add), so does this wardrobe open to one time and send the contents of its trunk into yet another time; back and forth, I imagine, since you've owned this old wardrobe and kept your belongings in it for many years, and your parents have not lost any of their coats yet, or received different belongings from a different time period, save ours?"
"Um. . . no. . . ?" Seras said very slowly; though she, like Sir Irons and Walter, was just trying to keep up with what Sir Hellsing was saying.
"Then the solution is quite simple, really," Sir Hellsing said, "We just need to place you back in the wardrobe, close the door, and when you open it you'll be home again."
"Really?" Seras cried, her eyes wide with hope. "You mean I get to go home?"
"Now wait just a minute, Arthur!" Sir Irons cried, "You cannot seriously suggest that the girl just waltz back in the wardrobe and be back in her own time?"
"That's just what I've been saying for the past several minutes," Sir Hellsing said, "Now go on little girl, try it out."
"Wait a moment, don't be so hasty!" Sir Irons said, "You have no proof that there is time travel involved at all; and yet you blindly accept that this is the method to do it?"
"If the girl is telling the truth, then there is no other method that I think can be involved," Sir Hellsing said confidently. "And if she isn't (which may very well be the case) then she'll step inside, nothing will happen, and we'll decide what to do from there. But she seems very sure of herself, and so I'm inclined to believe her. Either way, we'll have an explanation to our inquiries."
"But to do it so rashly!" Sir Irons exclaimed, "If she really is from another time (and that is a very considerable if) then this is the scientific anomoly of the century, and we must tread cautiously. How do you know it is fit for human travel; or rather, fit for human travel more than once? How do you know there may not be some unfortunate side-effects? How do you know she may end up in the wrong time (perhaps backwards instead of forwards)? How can you be sure that she won't step in get lost in zero space forever?"
"I cannot be sure," Sir Hellsing said carelessly, "Which is precisely why I'm sending Walter with her."
"What?" Walter's eye twitched.
"That's hardly a reliable solution!" Sir Irons protested.
"Not at all! The girl could run into some trouble on the way," Sir Hellsing said, "And I'll need Walter to see to it that she gets home safely."
"Fuck no," Walter snapped, "There's no way I'm crawling into a wardrobe with some ugly girl. . ."
"That goes double for me!" Seras spat.
"I'm not a girl, you idiot," Walter snapped.
"Well, you sure look it!" Seras snapped.
"It could built character," Sir Hellsing said, with a lecherous smirk, "You could climb out a man."
"Are you deaf? The answer is no!" Walter snapped.
"That's too bad," Sir Hellsing said, the sly one, "since you could be the first lad to experience time travel that we know of. Your name could wind up in the papers, or even future generations' history books. Or, you could just be there for one instant and come out unscratched. But no, since you dislike the girl too much, you may never. . ."
Walter's eyes widened, then he smirked. "All right, I'll do it."
"Now hold on just one moment!" Sir Irons exclaimed, "There is still the danger of whether this will be successful or not! Honestly Arthur, the way you carelessly fling the lives of your servants just astounds me. . ."
"Well little girl, it's time for you to go home," Arthur said, and lifted her into the wardrobe, "Please send your parents my regard; and Walter, report what you find when you come back."
Before Seras or Sir Irons could object, Walter jumped into the wardrobe, shut the door, and when he opened it he and Seras were standing in a different room.