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I do not own Hellsing.
After Doc's interrogation, there was no comfort, no rest, no peace of mind. Anxiety kicked around in Amelia's gut, sabotaging any chances of sleep and tainting the food she was offered. Her tongue still tasted stomach acid and chicken as it swiped nervously over her chapped lower lip. She hadn't drunk anything since the day before, and she cringed at the thought of putting anything else in her stomach, lest it refused to stay down. A dark beverage sat on the food tray beside the door, untouched.
No one made her drink. She wasn't forced to eat. In fact, after the interview and a small blood draw, no tasks had been thrust upon her, no schedule laid out for her. Doc ordered her to rest, but that struck her as mindless instruction. The lab was quiet and she was left alone. Alone with time to think and wait with dread for an intrusion.
Surely the doctor would catch her lies—of which there were actually very few, and more instances of half-truths and withheld information. The Captain would betray her. Schrödinger—nosy Cheshire that he had revealed himself to be—would drop in unannounced and boast that he had heard the entirety of her conversation with the Captain. How many cameras watched her in plain sight? How many were hidden, and where?
Amelia bolted upright on the mattress. Even if Millennium is destroyed, if Doc survives, I won't be free. What happens if I escape? Would I have to live the rest of my life looking over my shoulder? If I traveled far away, would he chase me? She got off the newly-made bed and hurried out of her quarters, veering into the bathroom. Half way to the nearest stall, she lurched forward and retched. The room spun and she lowered herself to her knees.
"Please help me. Please, God," she whimpered at the floor. Sore eyelids blinked, dehydration robbing her of the ability to shed tears.
The smell from the puddle eventually drove her off her knees and to the sink. Turning on the water, she spit and wiped her mouth, doing her best to rinse away the aftertaste. She needed to clean up. Her cuffs, soaked with water, swayed heavily around her wrists as she shut off the faucet.
She looked back at the mess on the floor and made a face. Better not to tell anyone, she decided.
There were only towels near the sinks, and so she entered the first stall and pulled off several long chains of toilet paper. Folding the lengths of tissue paper over and over itself, she brought them to the splattered vomit and wiped up the puddle as best she could without dirtying her hands, her nose wrinkled in disgust. The soiled paper she disposed of in the toilet in multiple loads.
Flushing down the last handful, she stood in front of the bowl, silent, downward gaze wandering to the small discolored spots on the legs of her pants. With her efforts focused on removing any traces from the floor, she had neglected to check for splatter on her person.
Imagination steered her towards the meal in her room, and she began to conjure a lie until she realized that none of the food on her tray was yellow. There was no blaming her food for the mess on her clothing…unless she made a bigger mess. I can spill my drink.
She returned to her room and sat down in front of the food tray, legs crossed. Once more she checked the location of the stains on her pants, and then she picked up the drink and slowly tilted it over her shins, watched the liquid dribble out and cover the yellow spots. She dropped the cup on her legs and flinched as it spilled over herself and splashed across the floor.
For a moment she stalled, entranced by the sight of the red-brown substance flooding along the grout and all that was white. And then she knew she was going to get away with it. Her lips parted as the corners of mouth tightened and pulled upward into a smile that was almost painful. Ruin and relief: two beautiful things. She got to her feet and moved away from the puddle, her wet socks tracking a few dark prints across the floor.
This time she cleaned with the towels—the perfectly white hand towels in the bathroom that were just for her. All of it, for her. The smile that had broken through minutes ago threatened to return. Had anyone been observing her they would have thought her mad. But she wasn't. Timid and desperate, most certainly, but not lost. And maybe not quite as powerless as she told herself.
She returned to the washroom when she had finished cleaning and peeled off her clothing, grimacing at the brush of the stiff, stained slacks against her skin as she broke out in goosebumps. Turning on the shower, she stepped under the water without waiting for it to warm, inhaling sharply as her chill worsened under the water. She hugged herself while shivering terribly for a minute, waiting for the temperature to change and tampering down another swell of nausea.
She wanted so badly to escape, and doing that would require more than the aid of another: she needed to help herself. It was too dangerous to rely whole-heartedly on anyone else here. The knowledge was not a frightening revelation so much as it was a biting reality. What's a promise to a kidnapper, a monster, a Nazi, a manipulator, a criminal, an abuser… The list ran longer. At most, I might have gained someone who is occasionally kind to me. Not a friend, or ally, or partner. But she would take that. There had to be a way for her to use him to her advantage.
The water warmed and she stopped shaking.
How does this work? She unwrapped her arms and lifted her hands, turning them over at face-level. Her gaze traveled over the jut of bone and followed the trails of veins branching over the back of her hands, gradually fading past her wrist and up her forearms. How did she create shadows sharp enough to cut? How did she control something so unpredictable and harmful to herself and those around her? What if she seriously injured herself? And then she got caught? How would she explain herself? The questions began to flood in, and she pressed her palms to her eyes and let out a whimper. I have to do this. I have to.
Her next breath was unsteady, but her resolve built itself upon the strain. You have time, right now. This is the greatest amount of freedom you're going to get. This isn't going to get any easier. Figure this out, and you'll be one step closer to escaping. Still, her chest heaved, aching under the pressure. Instead of trying to stifle it further, she let go, forcing the air in and out of her lungs—to some degree, in control.
It took four more minutes to reach the starting point again.
Hands held aloft under the spray, she eyed them with some trepidation. Summoning shadows: test number one.
Integra glared at a narrow patch of disturbed ground at her feet, her eyes barely able to pick out the dislodged, handful-sized clumps of sod in the poor lighting. The police, under-staffed and ill-prepared for the predator that had sunk its teeth into the relatively quiet countryside, had scrambled for the past hour to gain a modicum of control over the crime scene. The air buzzed with chatter over the hiss of light rain. Tilting her umbrella, she flicked her gaze upwards for a moment to watch a young man in uniform stride by, face pale in spite of the cold. Held together by a sense of duty, he bore on through the dew towards the manor's back door, sitting askew on broken hinges.
The old property's façade stood pleasantly in contrast to the horrors within, stately and picturesque with the attached greenhouse and cobblestone patio. Whoever had taken over the house had felt it important to maintain appearances. Integra returned her attention to the short trail of upturned earth disappearing into the dark. She set off in the same direction, gaze trained on the crest of the adjoining hill.
"Madam—!" Suspecting the call was meant for her, she looked over her shoulder for its source.
"Ah—Sir Integra…" The policeman stumbled, correcting himself as he came jogging to her. "Where are you going? We need to confirm that the area is fully secure—"
Integra's lips curled, a small smile audible as she cut in. "I admire your adherence to protocol, Officer Warren, but I have my own investigation to conduct." The man made a set of inarticulate noises that could only be attributed to shock.
"I must insist," he tried again, after recovering from her rejection. "It's not safe. We think the—the…" he seemed momentarily at a loss for the appropriate term to use in the scenario, before leaning into familiarity, "the perpetrators may not all be accounted for."
What semblance of a smile she had initially offered slipped away to be replaced by a scowl—or quite possibly, a glare, given the indignation that darkened the officer's face. "I am aware of the danger, and I am eager to meet it." Her anger was not directed at him, and she felt she owed him no explanation or apology for misreading her. "Don't worry, Officer, I won't be alone. I'll keep within shouting distance." Before he could protest further, she turned and walked several paces further from the property. Torchlights waved behind her as she stood at the edge of the night, listening to Officer Warren complain to someone about her.
Integra swiveled her head around, blonde locks brushing across the lapels of her coat. "I know you're there, skulking around. It's been quiet for over forty-five minutes. Why haven't you given your report yet?"
"And here I was thinking you were going to get answers on your own. You didn't let the police stop you." Alucard climbed out of her shadow, adjusting his hat with a wide grin.
"Don't avoid the subject. Is what that officer said true?"
"The vampire is gone." Her eyes flashed with disbelief and Alucard shifted his feet in the soft earth, unbothered by the rain. "The only residents in the house when we arrived were a family of ghouls and an assortment of strangers. Whoever turned them wasn't looking for friends, they wanted pets. Kept them fed, sheltered, found them a few neighbors to play with—"
"The vampire escaped then?"
"I don't think it's returned since last night." Integra bit her lower lip. "With all this commotion, it's unlikely it will return in the next day, if at all."
She glanced back towards the manor, her bright eyes straying to the silhouettes moving behind the windows of the first floor. "The files mentioned two young male children—twins—in addition to parents and an adult daughter. Did you find the boys?" When she met Alucard's gaze again, she was ready for his answer. It was rare for humans to be kept alive as hostages, and the youngest in particular often fell prey to violent and impulsive urges.
"I think you have misunderstood me, My Master, and so I will repeat myself. Tonight, I found and disposed of a family of ghouls."
Integra did not speak for almost five minutes after he relayed all that he had found. She was visibly troubled, turning over the possibilities and consequences no doubt, judging by the far-off look in her eyes. Of course, she would want to discuss this further—and he would need to consider the implications as well.
The children could have been raped before being turned. Age was no safeguard against indecency and there was no shortage of cases of abuse or pedophilia in the country. But the entire set-up of the ghouls at the private estate struck him as odd. Experimental. Atypical for the vampires of present day who were prone to recklessness and ostentation.
"Three vampires in two weeks. It's been a very long time since activity was this high." The percussive droplets on her umbrella began to beat louder, but he knew she would never extend her protection to him. Integra took a step closer, lifting her chin. "Something's not right; this isn't normal."
Water dripped steadily from the tip of his hat. If she stood only a little closer, it would splash on her. "No, it's nothing but a distraction."
"Or it's a prelude to the first suite. A trail of breadcrumbs we're meant to follow. Even if you're right and it is a distraction, it's one we can't afford to ignore."
He got the strange impression that her words were meant to test him, but he didn't waver. "You can't think that this is where we're needed most. There are others at your disposal who are well-enough equipped to handle a missing vampire. Let them take care of this mess." His tone was mildly derisive, but he assumed she would appreciate his honesty.
Integra stepped forward again, pausing at his shoulder. "Walk with me." Her words drew him in, brought him in line with her step as she led them into the dark. It was a phrase first spoken by Abraham, reserved especially for private discussions and close friends, and despite the difference in ranks between the ones who used it, it never failed to sound like anything more than a request. He would descend to Hell if doing so allowed him to walk beside her, even for an instant.
After a few seconds of trudging through the soft pasture, the lights from the crime scene dimming at their backs, Integra stopped to rummage in her coat pocket, pulling out a torch and shining the beam over the ground in front of her. They remained quiet for a short while as they began a gradual ascent, she intent on making it through the mud without slipping, he hanging on her silence in anticipation.
When she was a child, she had often sought him out—he thought, in part, because she missed her father. But now, in retrospect, he suspected this had not been the case. What she wanted was not a substitute father figure, but a tutor, a guide. More than the comforting memory of Arthur Van Helsing, she needed Abraham Van Helsing's knowledge and expertise. And while the books and reference materials and journals were passed down to each new generation in the family's private library, nothing compared to the man himself. And no one—at least, amongst the living—knew her grandfather better than he. How wonderful and sad, he thought, that we should search for the departed in one another.
"Have you been able to make contact with Amelia Seward?" Eyes scouting the terrain ahead, she did not see his jaw clench.
"We have interacted on a few occasions, but I'm inclined to believe her finding her way to me is something of a subconscious ability. I can't go to her, and yet, somehow, she comes to me." His thoughts churned. "Even when she does not wish to."
"So you have made some progress these past few weeks. How much have you spoken to one another? Have you questioned her?" Integra's pace quickened, and he could hear an edge in her voice hinting at frustration. Because he'd met the girl several times now and told no one. Continued his work, as he'd been directed, without reporting his progress. And had, as she was about to learn, taken matters into his own hands without her approval.
"We haven't spoken much. It's obvious that she knows who I am, what I am, and that seems to be affecting how willing she is to cooperate." The woman beside him seethed though she said nothing. "However, I was able to convince her to extend an invitation to me. I could not fully manifest, but I was able to investigate her living space, if only for a moment. Fortunately, I also recognized the mongrel that appeared at her door." He stopped walking, Integra standing rigid a couple paces behind him.
"Are you saying you travelled to Amelia Seward's location? How can that be if you say you cannot go to her?"
"I do not have all of the answers, Sir Integra. Abraham did not share his secrets with me, just as he did not share them with you or your father. I assume he had his reasons." A villainous smile accompanied this last remark, and Integra bit her lip.
"What about the individual you recognized? Could you name them?"
"No. But I remember his affiliation and nature from our last meeting. I'm sure Walter does as well."
Integra released her lower lip and let out a restrained sigh. "We can start there." Her mouth moved as if she was going to ask another question, and then she shut it momentarily, some realization dawning on her.
"This individual... Did he see you?"
Had the man been human, he would have been easy to deceive. But…
"It was unavoidable," he grunted.
"What the hell were you thinking?"
"That I'd have more success gathering information on my own than questioning a frightened child who barely remembers how to speak in my presence," he interjected, fueled by her temper.
"Your orders were to find Amelia Seward and nothing else—certainly not to engage with her in such a risky manner. I won't reprimand you for wanting to collect information, but revealing yourself without knowing her circumstances, granting yourself the authority to do whatever you please… Perhaps it was an easy decision for you, but you've just complicated things for everyone else, particularly for Amelia." She marched up to him, face flushed. "What were you planning to do after your reconnaissance? Report?"
No, because he certainly hadn't done that. And she knew it too.
"I was going to take her with me." Deep in his chest he felt his anger grow, a solid, pulsing thing in place of a heart. His glower chilled as Integra's expression morphed into something akin to uncertainty.
"That's not your decision to make." Her voice did not betray her.
"Hmm, you don't want her here? I thought the point of this mission was to take her under your wing? Isn't that what your grandfather did when Jonathan Harker was in trouble—when anyone came calling for his aid? Abraham was a good man, but he was also a strategist; he did not turn opportunity away from his doorstep. What do you get out of sheltering the girl, and what do you gain by delaying her arrival? Does she make you feel threatened?" He hadn't meant it as an insult, but perhaps she heard it as such. Her wary countenance stiffened to a steely confidence, though her eyes flickered over him with agitation.
"The last woman you chose to take with you was Mina Harker." Not mincing her words, Integra doused cold water on the fire at his core. "And once you had her, you refused to let her go. London be damned. Transylvania be damned. Abraham Hellsing, whom you so respected and admired, be damned. I can't let the same thing happen again, no matter how many decades have passed, no matter how circumstances have changed."
This went beyond anger, Alucard theorized as he considered her expression without wearing one himself. She thought his secretive behavior, his actions towards Amelia were tantamount to a betrayal of her trust, his allegiance to the Hellsing Organization. Did she really believe that his motivations were so shallow? That he would be swayed by a girl he only just met, because of a blood relation?
"I included you in this mission thinking you might be of some help, Alucard. I still believe that. But I stand by my earlier comments. You did not have permission to infiltrate an unknown area, or to take Amelia Seward." His temper flared weakly, but did not rekindle. The mask he had donned remained in place, the shine gone from his eyes, leaving him with the life of a statue.
He inclined his head slightly when their gazes met, reluctantly accepting her words. "What are your orders, Sir Integra?" His volume was barely above that of the rain's.
"Know your place." The truth: unchangeable and as unforgiving as time. They would never walk side by side, never be on even-footing. "Continue to meet with Amelia. The next time you talk, I want you to ask questions and get answers. I don't care if she's scared and I don't care if you're impatient. If she still has a head on her shoulders, and knows enough to fear you, she can be reasoned with. Any information she gives you, send to Walter; he's amassing her file and coordinating international efforts. Additionally, I want a report from you on every occasion that you encounter Amelia, regardless of whether you interact with her or not." She tilted her umbrella, resting it against her shoulder. "We'll have to assume that her captors will tighten security and take extra precautions when going about operations now that you've revealed yourself. Do not manifest on her side again unless I give you explicit orders. Is that clear?"
"Perfectly, My Master."
"Come on, we're almost to the top." She marched past him, and this time, he followed.
They continued the rest of the way without talking, letting the rain pad the suffocating silence between them.
The view from the peak of the hill was no better than at the base. Regardless, Integra turned and asked, "Can you see anything?"
"Nothing definitive," he admitted after several seconds.
"Hold this." She passed him the umbrella without waiting for his reply, knowing he would accept it. Not daring to put his head underneath, he lifted it a little higher, peering at her around the stretched fabric as she pulled a small map from her inner coat pocket. Mumbling to herself, she found their place on the creased paper after a few seconds and looked up into the darkness.
"Winscombe. That's the nearest settlement with a large population." She moved her torch beam over the printed landscape. "There's also Axbridge and Cheddar."
"You won't turn away from this case?"
"No." She lowered her eyes back down to the map. "I'll send out a couple agents to scout the villages. If our missing vampire has been hunting around the lake, I doubt he'll seek shelter there. Better to move inland." Tucking the map away, she reclaimed the umbrella from him.
"Be ready to move if we receive confirmation." Torchlight trained on the grass, she looked out over the dreary countryside on last time. "I think it's best you report what you've learned to Walter. I'll remain here until things are sorted."
"Understood."
When she turned, she moved a little slower, and he did not miss the way her gaze lingered on him, expectant, as if waiting for him to say more. But he was not in the mood to share her company any longer, so all he offered was a muted, "Good-night, Sir Integra," as she departed.