Satis Chapter 21: birds, a hellsing fanfic

20.

birds

"Why am I here?"

Integra asked this question.

The clock ticked past six. The morning was muffled by the curtains, the air stagnant, and the scent of her blood swirled within like the finest wine.

They stood in her bedroom.

Another day, another night, he had been in this room and kissed the sole of her foot. Alucard smiled brittlely. The same stage, the same players, the only difference was the rising sun. She smelled of blood. She smelled of him. She wore his kisses. She wore his coat. She was his.

The monster would have gloated, but all he felt was trepidation.

He had been patient as she tended to the girl who had exhausted herself with her outburst, and fell back asleep. Integra had waited, until perhaps the dreams this time would keep at bay. Perhaps. Dreams were nebulous. Even he could not control his own. Nonetheless she had waited, staring at the girl, then at the daisies on the windowsill.

"She was so afraid I would die."

Now, her left eye creasing, Integra answered her own question. "We are here because we have nowhere else to go."

She looked at him. "Aren't we?"

For an instant, Alucard relived another morning. Another figure in red, driving a stake through his heart. Count, you have nothing. Nothing.

Look, Abraham. The last of your line is wearing your coat, now mine. And she is mine.

I have everything. Everything. And he would have laughed, but again all he felt was trepidation.

Alucard knelt.

"Yes."

Nowhere else.

Integra gazed down at him for a solemn while. Then slowly, she ran her fingers over the lapels, and pulled them back.

It was not meant to entice. She was tired, she wanted a bath, she would need to brace her arm. Yet when she peeled off the crimson that had been warmed so intimately against her flesh, and exposed his marks on her neck, Alucard surged and stalled her hand.

"Let," he said, "me."

There was a little quirk on her lips.

Her hair clung to her dark skin like lightning. It struck him as harshly, his urge to push her into the bed behind her. To rubify each pale strand in the throes of their consummation. To hear her cry out his name as they brought Eden down to this chamber. To have his drop of blood splatter on her tongue, a sacrilegious rose.

Alucard stayed put. This was not meant to entice.

Though her eyes were on him they were distant.

The coat pooled to the floor when Integra spoke. "Something is very wrong."

Alucard removed the tatters of her blouse. His hands trembled, and he smothered them in the fabric as he replied sarcastically, "Oh, I haven't noticed."

"Seras' dreams. How is it possible?"

The girl again? "How is what possible?" he spat.

Integra grabbed his shoulders. Her tone in contrast was maddeningly calm. "Listen. Everyone she loved was dead. How is it possible she dreams of those people and their deaths that have yet to occur?"

Alucard wanted to shout, I am listening. Your heart, I am listening to your heart, your life. What does that stupid girl and her dreams have to do with anything? You are here and you are mine.

But she was cruel. "Dylan, the soldier. He knew. And Seras..." Integra scratched at the leather.

And it angered him. That somehow these pests knew her, had some connection with her past life—which she now so nonchalantly alluded to. Where was he in all this?

Nowhere.

He wasn't there.

He wasn't there when she—

"Your questions seem to be piling up, dear Countess. Let me ask you one in return."

He felt her tense.

"Did you die," Alucard rasped, "because I was not there?"

Of course, you are human. Of course, you will die, someday.

Yet—

Integra's eyes were distant. A distance of time.

No, don't go there.

Come back.

"Do you think you could have prevented it? How presumptuous, even for you, Alucard."

The clock ticked for each second of silence. In that moment she was lost to him. Fettered by time, as he was. Then at the end of that distance she said, "I wouldn't have let you."

There was a clamor in the back of his mind that grew louder, and he realized it was keening. He was mourning.

"I died, to a human illness." She smiled ruefully. "I'd imagined you would think it fitting."

Alucard imagined an Integra in battle. She would deliver the killing blow to the head of their enemies. She would stand tall and radiant. And if she herself was wounded, if her blood was being wasted on charred soil, she would not falter.

If she died in battle, it would be a glorious death. But it would also mean he failed her. He was her war dog. It was his purpose to flank her. She would keep standing, not only because of her pride, but also because he would be there.

Of course, you will die, someday.

Yet he is a selfish creature.

Her warmth left his shoulders. Integra walked away from him—No, where are you going?—unclasping her skirt, letting it fall, her hair swaying with the strides of her bare legs. She opened the bathroom door, and stopped.

"Forgive me."

She said it like a farewell.

"I grew up too quickly, and died before you knew it."

Soon there was the sound of running water.

The Countess won the war, but lost her Count.

He left her on the battlefield.

The monster's eyes were wide and red. They were dreadful eyes, desperate eyes. Had he not become a monster so he would never again have to feel this way?

The shadows in the crevices wailed in many, many different voices. His enemies, his soldiers, the men and women and children he had devoured, the janissaries, the boyars. Mad king, you failed her. You failed her like you failed us. You lost, all over again. You have nothing. Nothing. They grew louder and louder.

He bit through his tongue.

The door. It was open.

An invitation.

Alucard dragged himself, both figuratively and literally, through the chaos of his mind. He crossed the threshold as if it were consecrated, and the steam rising from the bath did banish his demons somewhat, at the same time it spiraled him down a more acute kind of madness.

It had not escaped him, since the day he awoke, he was paving his own road to ruin by his sheer need of her. But she was Integral. And if she would drive him to true madness with her body bare and wet, so be it.

Alucard crawled, a stain in the sterile white space, his hands hooking over the side of the porcelain. She did not react to his presence. Except her fingers rose from the water and met his. She was submerged up to her chest, her hair fanned out and floating on the surface, and he thought it merciful.

"It was very strange, to wake up like this."

Her voice took on the faraway quality he now associated with this Integra.

"I haven't been this young in decades. Right up until the evening of my death, I felt ancient. I wasn't that old. Only fifty-two. Perhaps waiting does that to you. Waiting without promise."

And yet, she had waited.

She would have been beautiful.

"But I won't talk about that. It's done, I died, and I can't go back." Integra laughed tersely. "I think I remember telling you I would give you my impression of death. Well, here it is. It is...wrong."

She gripped his hand. "Why am I here?" And Alucard realized she had not actually answered her own question, earlier. "The forest. The void. Dylan. The light." Integra turned to him, her gaze electric in its intensity. "They were waiting for me."

Alucard opened his mouth. "The laughter. You recognized it. The target wore the silhouette of my female form. Another engaged Walter, wearing that of his youth."

"Both of you?"

"Is that also connected to you?"

Integra was still.

"You, and Walter." She lifted her opposite hand from the water and covered her left eye. "This, and Seras' dreams. Time, folding back on itself." Her right eye was fixed on him, relentless. "If I were to say I am the common denominator in all this, what would you say to that?"

"I would say," he ventured softly, "someone wants to change reality. By way of undoing your—"

"—death," she finished.

Time seemed to have stopped with her. Only the faint plinks of stray droplets hitting the marble floor marked its passage. Time was pitiless, but for her it had eaten its tail. Perhaps a world without Integra Hellsing was impassable. Like Hermes' bird, it chose to mutilate itself and crawl back to her side.

My Master, my Countess, you are truly magnificent.

"Does it matter?"

Her eye narrowed.

"You are here." Alucard spoke with fervor. "Does it matter why?"

Integra glared at him. Of course it matters, she wanted to say, yet her fingers were possessive, and upon her left eye they curled into a fist. He snatched up both of her hands.

"If you order me to search and destroy the entity who sent you here, I shall do so gladly. But I am a selfish creature." He pulled her. The bath slopped over the porcelain. His hand splayed on her back. Her heat was almost blistering, wafting in scented waves from her supple flesh.

She punched him in the arm. "Yes, you are," Integra drawled, but her fist unfurled and she dug her nails into him.

"If the future could not keep you to itself, if Death could not kill you..."

Her hair dripped over her breasts, sticking to her skin, making it slick. The contrast of his white glove against the dark slope of her back, where the water ran down in rivulets, was inciting him to turn his head and sink his teeth into her neck. Instead he weighed onto her shoulder.

"It is their loss and my gain."

Alucard saw his eyes reflected in the water.

Wide and frightened, like a child's.

God, I pray not for mercy.

"Why are you here?" The monster echoed her question. "Why are we here?" He held her tighter and more delicately than he had ever held a cross. Alive and breathing, she did not burn him coldly as the cross would. How could any God compare?

"You are here because we are here. We are here because you are here."

We must be herded, to the Heavenly Father's arms. But he has spurned us. Where else can we go?

Ah, to her, to her. She who will proudly command us. She who will embrace us, the taint on our souls. She who bears the same taint. Yet she stands tall and radiant, so we flock to her. She, who will love us, regardless.

Integra sighed. "You vampires."

The plural form did not go unnoticed. He would ask later. There would be time for later.

Her voice was quiet at his ear. "You won't lie to me. You won't deceive me. If you have anything to do with this…you will tell me."

"I do not," said Alucard.

And so fleetingly it must have escaped her thoughts, Integra whispered, "That's what I was afraid of."

Integra stayed in the bath, drowning in her thoughts.

Alucard stared at her as if he would consume her with the fire of his eyes. It was not lost on her that she was naked and vulnerable before such want. How depraved it would be, to the Integra who had once been. How outrageous, that she mirrored it.

He was right. Even if it did matter, what else was there to be done? He called himself selfish. What did that make her? She was the one who had eaten space-time.

She had to tell him. Before their consummation.

The leaden feeling that was suspicion without proof, coiled in the pit of her stomach. The pieces were there, refusing to fall into place. Or was it she who refused?

Because her suspicion was so ludicrous. It was unthinkable. Yet she was thinking it, and it opened up far too many questions that she in her compromised state, with an ardent vampire beside her, could navigate.

So she asked those he could answer instead. "Tell me more. The shadow, how did it behave?"

Alucard obliged in his velvet murmur. Integra filed away the details. An uncanny emulation of his behavior. A denser composition. A puppet. "And? You said Dylan's blood tasted like nothing."

"With my teeth in his veins, draining him of life and that which composes it, I would have seen—tasted—something. His blood was tasteless." Alucard licked his lips. "It contained nothing. Like the void."

"He is human?"

"He is human. But you and I realize that to be human does not mean to be normal."

Integra had to chuckle.

Alucard had his cheek cushioned on one hand. The other idly tapped the rim of the tub. His eyes were only on her face, though she knew he did not necessarily require them to seek what he desired. The water was cooling. Integra shifted minutely.

White, gloved fingers dipped in. They stroked, creating a current.

She lifted a leg and admonished the hand with the tips of her toes.

He caught her foot.

The water was cooling. Yet Integra felt warm, too warm, before the want of this monster who was sinful in leather. She had met him in this form, and lost him. Suddenly she was impatient. It was not enough.

The hand slid down her foot, her calf and stroked the crook of her knee. Integra, his velvet murmur was in her mind, Integra, in your past, did I touch you like this? It slid down her thigh. Alucard was looming over her now, his hair spindling, his broad shoulders darkening her like the night. She mused belatedly she should have shoved him in here with her.

Did I worship you in all the ways?

The water rippled. His fingers were dangerously close.

Integra bit her lip. She found the stopper at the bottom of the tub and pulled, and the release of pressure buoyed his hand. The water swirled down the drain, a pretense of cleansing—as if any amount would erase the taint on their souls.

She kept her eyes on his as she grabbed a towel. He kept his eyes on hers as she stood. He stood as well. She wrapped the towel loosely around herself, and made to step out. Alucard bowed, offering his arm. Integra took it, squeezing it harder than was needed. There was silence.

The equilibrium of the world seemed to lie on his burning gaze, her heartbeats, their terrible, terrible desire.

She let the towel fall and yanked him to her.

Their lips met roughly. He hoisted her up. The buttons of his straightjacket chafed. Integra did not care; she flattened herself against him, kissing with abandon. They moved with inhuman speed from the bathroom, to her bed and collapsed into the mattress.

Alucard was above her, caging her, drinking in what must be a sight: the last of the Hellsings, bared for ruin. But it was not triumph in his eyes. He lowered his head and he was canonizing her. He kissed her, not because of a poem or her taunts or desperation, or to show off, or to seek her bittersweet, but because she was Integra.

He wrapped an arm around and elevated her waist, and Integra made a sound in her throat when she felt his hardness straining at the confines. He was gorged on her blood and desire, thus he capitulated to his basest, yet most forgotten, instinct.

Did you want this? Did you wait for me, wanting this?

It frustrated her that he was still clothed. He was reworking the marks on her neck, his carnivorous mouth sucking and nipping. If he would have her wear these little gifts, Integra would have him wear something of hers in return. Not Hellsing's. Hers. She sought for the hand that was in her hair—to leave a red mark on, perhaps, his ring finger—

She cursed. Why had she not taken off his gloves?

Alucard looked up with a smirk. He loosened his hand from her hair and slid his fingers between her teeth. They closed in on them.

Then she thought better of it. She seized him and pushed, flipping them over, until he lay willingly spread underneath, his eyes crazed. Integra sat up. With a shudder of breath she straddled his hips.

He bucked into her. "Countess!"

"Be still," she scolded. Alucard obeyed, though she could feel the raw tension in his muscles. So very beautiful, so very much hers. Her heart ached. Did she want this, he asked?

I wanted you before I even knew what to want. I waited and waited and waited until it was too late.

But she barred the grief that threatened to crest. Integra ran her hands over his restraints. There were many; she had to start somewhere.

"This is our consummation, Count," she reminded him.

He moaned her name.

"By which I will accept your heart. Nothing else before it."

He was the picture of obedience, yet his shadows were snaking around her thighs. Integra ignored them and steeled herself as she undid his buttons. It was cumbersome. Her wound was still tender and her fingers were unsteady despite her efforts. While she tortured him, he continued to whisper feverishly in her head. Did I kiss you? Did I kiss the sole of your foot? Did you limp?

"Quiet."

Why? The voice of a mad king. The voice of a coquettish girl. The voice of a frail, sobbing child. They were all hers and they all cried for her justification. Why did you wait?

"Would you rather I had not?"

Why would you wait? Why would you wait for me? Integra, Integra, Integra!

She struck him where she had wanted to bare his dead heart. "Because I love you, you fool."

There.

The final fig leaf.

His voices quietened.

And there remained this fool of a man whom she loved. Whose pale lips parted, as if to say—but nothing passed. They trembled. They contorted. At last they settled, into a peculiarly breakable smile.

He gathered her hands in a single grasp and kissed her knuckles, reverently, as only a monster could.

"Then let us not waste any more time," Alucard said, and slashed open his chest.

The blood, which from him was ever so vibrant, spilled onto the bedsheets. His eyes were ringed with madness, never leaving hers during the self-mutilation. The Countess never strayed. She let the blood splatter across her hair, her breasts, her stomach, undoing the hard work of her bath; she observed her Count reveal his dead heart to her. It was unbeating, a brutish pomegranate. The white of his glove turned completely red. His smile twisted, but not once did he blink, as he tore off a chunk.

He ate it. He made a show of it, his tongue slithering out, sampling the goods. She watched his Adam's apple—the irony was palpable—contract and protrude as he swallowed. Then he pulled her down, cupped her skull with the crimson hand and painted her hair. She let him deliver the drop he had promised with his mouth and let him deliver them to hell.

He thrust, meeting her wet heat with the cold leather, and she moved her hips to his rhythm. When the drop entered her, when she accepted all he had to offer, he almost deluded himself that it was living, that it was somehow worthy of her. Of course, it was dead, as always. It was her heart he felt. Her heart, he carved into memory the cadence of, when she cried out her release.

And as he succumbed to the spasms of his own release, clutching her to him, he allowed himself to think—I dare not call this love. The word itself is insufficient. It is too much, too much, too much. It will destroy me. Please. Let it destroy me.

The Countess and the Count lay in their marital bed. They were entwined so thoroughly that their world started and ended in the pool of his mutilated heart which gaped open still, nestled between her breasts. Though it was slowly knitting back together, it would never again be truly whole, for he had given it to her.

I didn't tell him, Integra thought belatedly. The singularity.

Deviltry against deviltry was the Hellsing way, yet she had no way of knowing if the light she had devoured would react to vampire blood.

But what was done was done, and her Count's ragged breaths at her ear were so novel and so sweet, she merely tilted her head back to kiss the slope of his red-soaked jaw.

Integra, he sang.

His eyes were always, always on her. Only now they were heavy-lidded. It was morning, after all.

And as she followed suit, drifting off in his arms, she caught sight of the lace of daisies Seras had woven for her on the vanity. The petals were bright. At a distance, through a mist of tiredness, against the richly colored wood, they looked like—

Like—

Integra closed her eyes.

Like white specks between warped flooring, waving in the breeze.

Cancer, the doctor said.

The next morning, they went on a trip.

"Master Integra, why don't we fly?"

There were many reasons Integra should have denied her. It was broad daylight, and Seras did get tired; it was a frivolous use of her powers, and a bright red streak in the sky would surely yield witnesses in this age of drones and whatnot. But Integra did not say, so they left the car midway and took off.

Flying in Seras' arms was a strangely soothing experience. In her solid embrace, her shadow creating a barrier against the winds, Integra felt as though she was weightless. They had not done this since the roads reopened. The lady returned to her human pace, while the fledgling spread her wings. Integra would watch Seras disappear into the night with a jaunty salute—"Don't miss me too much, Master! I'll be back before you know it!"—watch until she was a star.

They landed in a meadow.

It was an obscure piece of Hellsing property in Devon, near the national park. The cottage there—a shack, really—had apparently been refurbished. Integra did not remember and did not care. Seras was only aware of it because she had been in charge of the ledgers for a spell. It dated back to Abraham's time, which was all Integra needed for conjecture.

Indeed, this place would have been perfect for some peace and quiet.

As soon as Seras opened the door she pointed to the floor and laughed. "Look, the cheeky little sprites!"

A clump of daisies was pushing up between the flooring. It waved in the breeze.

"How nice! It's like a fairytale cottage," Seras exclaimed, which was stretching the truth. "Well." She pivoted on Integra with a too-cheerful smile. "I was thinking about what we could do—"

Integra stepped past.

"It's breezy, but we could have a picnic—"

She produced a cigar. Seras snatched it from her fingers without a break in stride. "Or do you want to lie down for a bit?"

Integra sighed. "Seras."

"Or go for a walk?"

"Seras."

"Or would you like some tea?" Seras conjured a teapot out of nowhere. "I brought the china just in case, and your favorite Darjeeling—"

"Seras."

"Or we could go sightseeing, I know the town we flew by isn't much to look at, but—"

"Seras," Integra snapped, "I am not going to die just yet."

Seras stared at her.

"Well of course you're not!" she screeched, and the teapot shattered.

Outside, birds chirped, as inside the Draculina caught her breath. She took the broom her shadow fetched from a closet with a small thank you. "I guess we—I guess I'll head into town and—see what I can find." Seras hastily swept the shards into a corner. "I'll be back before you know it! Don't—don't go anywhere."

Integra said, to the empty room, "Where would I go, you silly girl?"

She produced a second cigar and placed it between her lips, unlit. She knelt and picked up a shard. She rolled it in her palm, squeezed it, let it fall at the sting. There was a cut on her life line.

Integra stormed out.

A fair distance away she stopped and her one eye looked hard at the sun that was climbing toward the zenith. She wrenched the cigar from her mouth and laughed bitterly.

Cancer at the age of forty-two.

With all her vices, what did she expect?

Integra glared until her vision eclipsed. She closed her eye and sank to the ground, where daisies greeted her like little white hands. She stayed motionless for some time.

"Integral Hellsing had three birds.

One ate his wings

One fell from grace

and One flew free yet came back to rest."

"I forbid you to write my eulogy."

Pip Bernadotte shrugged. "Sure."

He slung his braid over his neck and plopped down next to her. "Would be bad form for an equally dead guy."

"Especially one who's taken up poetry," Integra groused.

"Hey, I'm dead and French. Waxing poetic is practically une condition préalable."

He looked normal for a dead Frenchman. Except for the thin thread of shadow that extended from his feet. The sun's rays balked at the black-red sheen around him. He lit a cigarette.

Integra scowled. "She confiscated my lighter, and you won't offer?"

"Sorry, boss," Pip said, and he was actually apologetic. "You heard Mignonette. Operation Quit Smoking, effective yesterday. Damn, I'm just getting through my stash before she makes me throw it out."

"On whose orders? Leaving you here, stretching herself thin, compromising herself—" She scoffed. "What, does she think I'll croak at a moment's notice?"

"Yeah, she's overreacting," Pip agreed. "But can you blame her?"

"She's the captain of my troops. I can blame her if she overreacts." Integra stood. "Since you agree, I'll waste no more time here and walk back to the manor. Tell Seras she's welcome to her holiday, and if she thinks I'll quit my cigars—"

"Ah, come on, boss. You two haven't even talked it out."

"Talk what out? Both of you are making a fuss of nothing." Integra crushed the cigar in her fist. "What's different about this compared to walking into a barrage of bullets or a pack of ghouls? This is simply another enemy."

"Right." Pip blew out smoke. "And, between you and moi, one eyepatch to another, that's what terrifies her. An enemy she can't destroy for you."

Once more in her life, Integra felt an anger that had no recipient. It was everything and nothing. Pip, Seras, herself, her own body. The sun, the wind, the daisies, so high and warm and saccharine. The years that had passed by. Two decades. And still—

She whipped around. "What's taking her so long?"

Pip was poking logs into a burner, and Integra was sitting by a window, tapping her fingers on the sill when Seras returned. Her hair was a haystack. An enormous basket was tucked under her good arm. She was smiling.

Integra wanted to run a comb through that ridiculous hair, wanted to pinch those conniving cheeks. In the depths of her stupid heart, she wanted that smile to never fade.

"Master! I've got us lunch. Let's have a picnic! And I found this bakery that had the most adorable fairy cakes. I'll set them up and—"

"Seras," Integra began, and what came out was, "I don't even enjoy cake."

"Nom de dieu," Pip muttered.

"It sure didn't seem like that with the lemon sponge the other day. Oh, this is exciting! I haven't had a proper picnic in ages."

Integra tried again. "Seras, we need to talk."

Seras swung the basket down on a table and fished out a brand new teapot. At least she set it aside this time. "Pip! Didn't you put the water on?"

"Mignonette," Pip said.

"Seras Victoria, we will talk, now."

"Fine!" Seras shut the lid of the basket with a resounding clatter. She looked up with wide eyes. "You can't die."

Pip pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Oh?" Integra let out, slowly. "I can't?"

"You can't."

"As if I have a choice?"

"You can't."

"I will die, someday."

"You can't," Seras repeated. "Master—Alucard—"

"What does that imbecile have to do with anything?" Integra said coldly. "I will die, someday, regardless of the cancer. You dare question that?"

"Maybe." Without warning, Seras knelt before her.

Integra stared. "What is this? Get up."

"Master, please." Seras did not budge. "He will come back. Please believe me."

"I never doubted you," Integra whispered, then checked herself. "And I repeat, what does he have to do with—"

"You've been waiting for him all these years."

Seras' eyes were red, so very red.

Like his.

"And you can't give up. In whichever way," Seras added, before Integra could take umbrage. "When he comes back, maybe he could—he would—"

"Spit it out."

"He could convince—" Seras wavered.

"He could convince me to have him drink my blood, is that it? Drain me, so I can become a vampire?" Integra wrenched herself up from her seat. "You vampires are all the same. You think becoming one solves everything."

"I don't think that," Seras said quietly. "I just—"

Integra went to the burner and put the water on boil.

Seras remained on her knees. Pip flicked his lighter open and shut, and Integra seized the teapot and threw in an amount of tea leaves that was bound to be a dark, bitter mess. It was easy to pretend the argument was over, yet pretense was what so easily broke in the face of desperation, and between the three of them they had plenty.

"Master, what if—"

Integra knew nothing good could come out of those words. "What?"

"What if," Seras swallowed, "you took a bit of my blood?"

Integra rounded on her.

"It's an honest question! It's not the same as drinking your blood—"

"Have I taught you nothing?"

"Blood is the covenant of life," Seras recited. "An exchange of blood cannot be broken until one dies. A human who has consumed vampire blood is effectively cursed, and may exhibit symptoms of undeath upon their demise. Right. That's not my point. It'll help! It'll make you stronger—"

"No, that's exactly the point, you foolish girl." Integra wore a lopsided, bitter smile. "Shall you make me into another Mina?"

Seras dug her nails into her knees. "It's not—no, how can you—it's not going to be like that. How can you say that? I won't ever let anyone desecrate you like that!"

Integra grabbed her shoulders. "What are you going to do then, you foolish, foolish girl? Be my gravekeeper for eternity? When I die—"

"Stop!"

"When I die, whether Alucard does return or not, he will be free. You will be free, and you must fly, Seras." Integra's voice was viciously calm. "Fly off to wherever you desire."

"You bloody well know I don't have anywhere else!"

"Isn't France nice this time of the year?" Integra mocked. Pip kept silent. "Go. I give you my leave. I trust you not to upend the world."

Seras flared. "Take that back. I will never leave you."

"Eventually I will leave first."

"You can't make me!"

"Seras Victoria!"

Seras jammed her hands on her ears. "If it's my choice, you can't make me leave you. You can get sick of me but you can't!"

"Seras—"

"Everyone I love is dead!" Seras shouted. Blood finally leaked from her eyes.

There was only the sound of Pip lighting his cigarette.

"You can't be, too."

And Integra, who had been gripping Seras' shoulders even as she told her to fly away, thought, How strange.

It's a beautiful day. The sun is high, the wind is warm, and the daisies are saccharine sweet. Yet it seems empty, compared to you.

You vampires. You're all the same.

You make me love you, in the end.

"I will die, someday," Integra said. Her hands were trembling. She had not noticed. "It has never been my wish to exist after that fact. You know this."

Seras' hands fell from her ears. They grazed Integra's as they slumped to the floor, defeated. The monstrous arm, however. Her wings. They spread across the walls of the shack, encompassed it with webs of red and black, as though she desired to shape it into a world of their own.

"I know."

"I will never drink your blood. I will live out my days as a human must, even if it means fighting this disease with human methods."

Seras blinked, and more tears stained her pale cheeks. "I know."

Integra wrapped her arms around her. "I am a knight, Seras. I have never yielded to an enemy. I will win this."

The tears blossomed crimson on her blouse, and Integra, as always, let it be.

"You can't die until Master comes back," Seras choked, sounding like a broken parrot, her foolish, darling girl. "Even if it takes ten, fifteen, twenty more years, okay? He'll be back. I know it."

"Yes, yes, alright," Integra placated, ignoring the ache in her heart. She harrumphed. "With his track record, he'll be later than any of those."

Seras laughed wetly. "You'll really be an old lady then."

"Careful, I might pinch your cheeks."

The Draculina withdrew from the embrace and grinned. Her red, red eyes were bright and full of hope so easy to curdle into desperation. "But if he is," she said, "I will never forgive him."

In the realm of dreams even he could not control, Alucard stood before the sunrise. It was a recurring scene. Predictable. His human end as he is dragged to the execution stand. His monstrous beginning as he laughs and laughs, and weeps and weeps, with bare and bloodied hands outstretched.

It was the same dream, except in this, Alucard beheld the gaping cavity in his chest, where nestled among broken bones and ripped sinews lay his mangled heart. I gave it to her. She has made it hers. I have her. I have everything.

Everything. Everything.

But why won't these tears stop?

When he awoke, there were no tears. His eyes were dry. The bedsheets were white. He had subconsciously siphoned off the blood during their slumber. His chest appeared whole.

Yet a sliver was within her. He felt her heartbeats like they were his own. It was the sole reason her absence did not petrify him. He moved his gloved hands over the lingering warmth and inhaled, his tongue snaking out, the heady mixture of their scents. He wanted her back. He needed her.

But her emotions were all over the place.

Integra was standing in front of her vanity, his coat draped around her. Though hindered by the dense fabric, he could see her spine stiff with a sensation that was becoming unwelcomingly, increasingly familiar—trepidation. The lace of daisies dangled from her listless fingers.

"What I saw as we left."

She was referring to the shack. Alucard could not understand why she was bringing it up.

"I think, they must have been daisies, after all."