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Two-Edged Gift	By : GoldAngelFish Category: Hellsing > General Views: 2790 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Hellsing, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Two-Edged Gift
- 1
~Hellsing and related
characters belong to Kouta Hirano. Thou shalt not sue the muse.~

(Extremely out of
character, but it was inspired by a beautiful piece of fanart.) To My Master

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A gift.

Something
so very simple, something that humans seemed to accomplish on a daily basis. He
had seen Walter choosing gifts for his master, deciding without hesitation on
what would suit her best. While he and the Angel of Death had different ideas
about what was appropriate, Walter did seem to choose items Sir Integra
Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing enjoyed.

This was
the problem.

The hallway
was silent as the grave it very nearly was, echoing with the drip of some water
running from an underground pipe. The air tasted of lichen and damp stone,
smelling faintly of old blood and wine. Dim light was the breeding ground for
thick shadows, which seemed to gather around the high-backed chair sitting at
the end of the long hall. A small table sat beside the chair, wine glasses and
a sealed bottle making a little tableau for the living and undead alike. He
sat, motionless as was his habit, and stared into the endless dark. Hat was
drawn down past his brows, shadowing his face, giving the orange sunglasses the
appearance of being animalistic eyes. Normally, he left such accessories off
when reclining in his chair. Now, however, he was blocked away from the world,
lost in thought.

A gift.

What should
it be? There was no occasion upcoming with which to conceal his intentions.
Such things had been his smokescreen before, tucked amidst the stilted, stodgy
gifts of the Knights and the few tentative overtures from new soldiers.
Walter�s warm, fatherly gifts had also hidden his overtures before, but this
was something entirely new. An impulse, a thought�something he did not wish to
keep restrained. He had done so all too often of late, and now he thought that
perhaps a release was in order. Keeping oneself completely restrained, even if the
seals aided him on his powers, was not easy, and it often left even a vampire
in need of some�recreation. This was not a vacation from himself, but the idea
had struck as if guided by lightning and would not leave his mind.

The why was
unnecessary. The who was quite obvious. It was the what, how and when that
niggled at his mind, swirling amidst souls shrieking in the void he carried
with himself, and the howling of leashed animal instinct ever on his heels.
Motionless, he gave the impression of eternal patience. A creature for whom
time meant little more than the ticking of those aggravating contraptions
mortals seemed so obsessed with, his master included. White-gloved hands
remained folded neatly on his bent knee, and his head had not lifted. Senses
unexplainable by mortal standards whispered in his mind, alerting him to the
return of the night�s expedition. Retreat was necessary if he was to continue
pondering this difficult question. After every mission, the police girl seemed
downtrodden, and her whirling thoughts made it much more distracting to sit and
just simply think. Still, he did not move. Darkness instead answered the call
of its master and swept over the red-coated figure in the chair. When the light
tread and heavy heart of the police girl came down the corridor, the chair was
very much empty.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The garden
to the Hellsing manor was vast, with numerous shadowy places for a vampire to
emerge. He had craved the movement of fresh air on his dead skin, and stood now
near an old English oak tree and inhaled deeply, enjoying the mingling scents
of the plants, dirt and exhaust from the returning military vehicles. When he
took in another breath, unnecessary though it was, he could even scent the
FREAK blood on a soldier�s boots. Such things made him laugh, normally.
However, he was preoccupied now, and tossed aside the thought of his normal
pranks. Pacing was easy, as his legs took long strides, and he swiftly covered
ground from one end of the garden and back. These nights, when moonlight was
glimmering amidst the leaves overhead, he usually preferred to stand on a
hillside and stargaze. The sky was one of the few things that remained constant,
and despite minor changes, it was a reassuring part of his existence. He did
pause in one of his usual spots, besides one of the immaculately maintained
rose beds. The crimson of the blooms appealed to him, and he gazed down at a
budding flower with the infinite patience of the eternal. One gloved fingertip
traced the lines of the petals, ghosting over the physical thing in such a way
that the bloom did not bend under his touch. The scent wafted past his
nostrils, quivering already from breath previously taken, and he inhaled again,
savoring the odor.

The rose
reminded him of her, and he paced once more. Soft physical exterior, a core that
was nearly impossible to attain, guarded by razor sharpness and a
sword-straight spine. The scent of her hair was something he caught as often as
possible, sliding from shadow to shadow behind her, inhaling deeply when she
turned suddenly, loving the way the platinum strands floated on air. Her eyes
always struck him deeply: those sapphire gems that sparked when she was angry,
glowed when she was on the passionate hunt, or gleamed faintly when tired or
annoyed. Rarely had he seen them sparkle, and only when it was thanks to
Walter. Once�only once had they sparkled for him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

�Alucard,
what is this?� The young master of Hellsing knelt by a bush, heedless of the mud
that instantly soaked her heavy blue skirt. Silvery hair fell over her
shoulders, barely restrained by a tasteful dark blue bow. She brushed at the
strands, irritated, and motioned the vampire closer. �I�ve never seen anything
like this before.� The undead leaned down, crimson eyes focusing on the small
patch of clover beneath the shrub. Blooming from within the clover patch was a
Scottish thistle. Unusual, that. Perhaps one of the gardeners had secret
loyalties? Scotland was part of Great Britain now, but personal feelings could
not be dictated by a few words. He lost interest in the flower almost
instantly, more fascinated with his master�s curious reaction to the prickly
thing. Integra, old already at fourteen, smiled with the delight of a child.
She caught hold of the stem, ignorant of the thistle�s sharp personality, then
blinked in shock when the pain struck. Sucking on the pierced finger, she
scowled down at the purple thing. The vampire could see the gears working in
her mind. How to gain this treasure, already dear from the price of her blood?
Her blood�He leaned further down, and white-gloved fingers closed around the
stem carefully. No strength was exerted and it came away in his hand. The girl
couldn�t see the shadowy tendril that slid about the stem, gathering the
dewdrop of Hellsing blood. All she saw was her monster offering the flower
she�d desired. His fingers moved quickly, stripping away the sharpness, and he
offered her a harmless blossom. Integra smiled, a pure smile born of inward
delight, and looked up at the creature as she accepted his offering. The
crimson of his eyes took in the sparkling of her blue irises�and he faded into
the darkness, back into that which he understood, avoiding the pained
expression of the disappointed teenager.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Years
had passed since that day. Never again had her eyes sparkled for him, and when
he had gone back the next night, the roots of the thistle had been grubbed out,
clover neatly growing over the small hole. He paused now, beside a shrub, and
peered beneath it, out of perverse curiosity. No�a foreign flower grew in this English
garden no longer. The Empire could stand no such insurrection within itself.
His eyes went back to the roses, and there he lingered. No step was taken, and
he was beside the bush, kneeling to face a blooming rose. For any watching,
this might have been the most disturbing of all. He leaned closer, cold lips
brushing the tops of the petals, and his tongue slid among them. The dusky
taste of rose murmured on his tongue, and he leaned closer, savoring the
flavor.

Her�glimpses
stolen over the years. In the shower, dressing, being attended for
injury�occasional sightings of Indian-dark skin marked with a few pale scars.
He remembered the faint, jagged scar on her upper arm, courtesy of her uncle.
As his mouth moved against the rose�s petals, he imagined running his tongue
over that scar. Feeling the contours of flesh beneath his mouth, tasting the
spicy flavor of her golden skin. The lines on her throat from the baohban-sith
and that creature who came incognito sprang to mind, and he moved there. Lips
parting, he placed open-mouthed kisses on the scarred skin, tracing the lines
where other fangs had violated her flesh. A memory, sparkling and clear, of the
white line across her abdomen, marking the rippling muscles, showing where the
dagger had parted her skin. His tongue traced that line, savoring the sweat
that ran across her stomach, feeling the muscle twitch beneath his mouth. A
scar on her waist came to mind, result of her lessons in swordplay, begun so
early. The monster shifted, running a cold tongue down her shuddering skin to
that pale gash. The scar felt rough to his mouth, and he sought to soothe it
with damp kisses and the stroking of a tongue. Memory, clearer than vision,
aided him. A scar on her knee, from a tumble as a child. This, too, received the
gentle caresses of a vampiric mouth. The long line which ran along the back of
her knee, given so kindly by a piece of glass, was traced with the barest touch
of his tongue.

Ah, the
wicked scar. A small, gnarled spot of flesh, resulting from a blow dealt by her
departed uncle. The spot which sat at the juncture of thigh and pelvis,
enticingly rough against the silken skin. He dove for it, mouthing the knot of
skin. Fangs grazed it lightly, and he was tormented by her scent. Gliding over
it with the flat of his tongue, he suckled at her skin, lips brushing the dark
silk there. He felt almost alive, aflame with memory and thoughts of desire as
he tongued the rose, probing to the stamen. In his mind�s eye, almost more real
than that which he physically encountered, it was a different probing he did.
Searching for the heart of the flower was inciting cries, shudders and a new
scent. Arousing himself without conscious effort, he strained forward, kissing
the hapless rose deeply. Petals shredded against his fangs, tore beneath his
persistent desire�leaving him with a mouth filled with tangy red strips, an
ache in his mind and straining desire between his legs. The vampire groaned,
clutching the rose�s broken stem, sucking at the juices released by torn
petals, imagining something very different. As a white-gloved hand descended
into the darkness to relieve his agony, the fanged mouth suckled lightly at the
desecrated remnants of a once-blooming beauty. In despair, he called the
shadows to him, swathing himself in darkness.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sir Integra
Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing took another inhalation on her cigar, expelling the
smoke into the warm night air. The balcony was moon-flooded, gleaming white in
the pale light, and she glimmered under the touch of Diana. The sound of
tearing silk caught her ear, and she half-turned, knowing full well her servant
would be wanting a full report on the night�s mission. Her mouth opened, to
issue something akin to a greeting, and she froze. He stood there, hair
obscuring his eyes completely, with shadows swirling about him. Held between
those dangerous fangs was the stem of a perfect, budding rose. The maiden could
not speak as the monster padded closer, eyes never visible to her own. He stood
before her, motionless at last, and simply bowed his head slightly. The murmur
came to her ears, deep, huskier than his voice seemed always to be.

�A rose for
my master?�

Integra�s
eyes widened.
- 1
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Two-Edged Gift