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Seventh Year Misfortune	By : Kainonis Category: Hellsing > General Views: 3969 -:- 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
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Seventh Year Misfortune

Chapter Two

It�s a place of no memory�
Yet there are memories, of feelings, thoughts, faces and names of people you can no longer recall.
Anderson jolts awake violently, breathing hard, heart palpitating. His hand immediately covers the silver on his chest, an instant calm flooding his body when he finds the staples are still the same, still in place. He has simply fallen asleep on the couch, sitting with his arms crossed and his head bowed. The room is quiet, the mirror still covered, and he finally feels rested. The entire day must have passed, and a great deal of the night.
Anderson turns his head, looking through the darkness toward the clock. The gentle golden glow shimmering over the mirror illuminates the room enough for him to see the time, and he realizes he must have slept no less than fourteen hours. Whether or not it was worth the risk remains to be seen; has Alucard simply remained in that sealed mirror for this time, or�
A place of no memory�
Anderson blinks and grimaces at this, the unbidden thought, a dream that he knows was not made from his own thoughts. Alucard can reach him through dreams now, where the void has always been most open to Anderson. Dreams are the gateway, a highway to the world where nothing but emotions and fear rule a person. It�s a dreamful world where there is no memory, no recollection beyond the emotions you incorporate during your waking hours.
If that is so, why can Alucard remember everything despite being inside the void? Why would he be whispering such things into Anderson�s dream, why would he be in Anderson�s presence now? In limbo, a person is not supposed to know of his life, or the people within it. He is not supposed to know what his sins were. He is supposed to be in a peaceful, meaningless existence.
And yet� Alucard is here now, perhaps in-between the void and the world. But Anderson has never encountered such a thing. Ghosts were not considered too rare of an occurrence, but he had believed them formed from insane, paranoid minds.
Minds not unlike his.
Quickly, Anderson forces that thought away. Whether or not he was paranoid had no bearing on this; Alucard wasn�t just a hallucination or a fantasy. Besides, Anderson knows of all the people he could have magicked from his lonely mind, Alucard is not someone he would wish to see again. The vampire had led him to this wretched life, and he would only want Alucard there for the sake of revenge. Revenge he cannot claim if Alucard is inside a mirror.
Anderson gets up with a sigh, walks past the mirror and into the bathroom to cleanse away the sleep from his eyes and freshen himself. The bathroom is a mess, just as he left it two days ago. Bible papers are strewn everywhere, the mirror is covered, and the wall is dented where Anderson had stumbled into it. But he doesn�t have the emotional energy to clean, lacks the ability to do so when his mind is so saturated with distracted musings.
Something about the whole situation seems wrong. Alucard had shown strength with his shadows, yet he was not fighting to remove the bible pages from the mirror. While the magic is strong, Anderson know that Alucard � of all people � should be able to break through, even if it takes all of his strength to do so.
It�s as if Alucard�s� waiting. But for what is the question.
Anderson walks back into the main room, his eyes lingering on the mirror as he fixes himself breakfast. The food taste stale in his mouth, and it probably is, but that�s always the case. Anderson lacks the desire or motivation to learn how to cook or to shop often, so the food he does have is usually frozen, canned, and possibly expired. It�s not like he can get sick, after all, and he can tolerate quite a good amount of disgusting meals before giving into his need to buy more food.
The mirror remains unchanged despite Anderson�s heavy gaze. Not a disturbance in the pale gold energy, not a voice, not anything that could indicate that Alucard is behind it. If Alucard had fought against the magic, if he had tried to convince Anderson to speak to him, to remove the barrier, Anderson would have been far more at ease.
At least then he would know he wasn�t just being overly paranoid.
Whatever game Alucard�s playing, whatever sick joke he�s indulging in is taking its toll. Doing something would infuriate Anderson, certainly; there is little the vampire can do that doesn�t rile him. Yet, doing absolutely nothing is far more frustrating. It�s a tense impasse, waiting to see who will make the first move, who will break the uneasy tension.
Anderson wants to believe that he can withstand the silence, but he is also not easily deluded about such things. So after staring dourly at the mirror for some time, he finally releases the magic, lets the biblical scriptures fall away from the reflective glass.
Only to find, of course, that Alucard is completely gone.
Anderson doesn�t even have the usual, inexplicable urge to laugh at this cruel joke. He simply stands there, breathing so heavily, so angrily that his chest hurts. The vampire has some nerve, to just show up in his life without explanation, and then simply vanish again as if he�d never been there.
�I know I�m not insane!� yells Anderson in frustration, grabbing the edge of the mirror and tossing it to the ground hard enough for several cracks to slice through the glass. �If you weren�t here, then I wouldn�t have my powers back, now would I? So stop playing games, vampire!�
This did nothing, and Anderson hadn�t been expecting it to. Nonetheless, he feels better in some indescribable way. The shattering snap of glass sounded almost soothing. Bad luck or not, he at least did something that Alucard had explicitly not wanted. He had broken the mirror; whether this would lead to good or bad, Anderson has no idea.
However, at this point, he could care less.
He stares down at the fractured shards, at the reflection of the ceiling and walls. The shadows doesn�t seem opaque in the image, they seem almost alive, breathing. But he doesn�t think much of this � he always sees such life in shadows now, demons and specters that don�t exist. It�s simply a deluded mind searching for the supernatural where it simply did not exist.
Alucard is not there, not now. Anderson can taste it, an empty presence, a gaping hole between the void and his world. Yet, there�s no tingling presence of the vampire, no instinct to indicate that the vampire is masking himself in the shadows.
Irately, Anderson turns on the lights, drowning out the shadows of the room. The piles of books are the own sources of darkness, sending shafts of darkness across the floor, but nothing substantial. The room seems despairingly empty, and Anderson doesn�t know if he should be relieved or angrier.
Frustrated, Anderson begins to retrieve the bible pages. A part of him doubts he will need them in the future, while another part of him is aware that he�s only cleaning them to prolong his time near the broken mirror, just to make sure. But watching an empty mirror for ghosts is an asinine idea, a obsession only a disturbed man would indulge in.
His eyes remain transfixed on the empty glass as he picks up the papers, not using magic to call them to him, to speed up the process. But even through the slow process, nothing changes, and Anderson is certain that Alucard is not going to show himself again � that is, unless Anderson isn�t expecting it. And since Anderson is always expecting it, that day might never come.
To make himself not obsess over this was an impossibility. But a distraction of some sort, something to occupy his mind� was possible, albeit unlikely.
Anderson sits on the couch, staring at the mirror with an unwavering gaze as he tries to determine what could distract him from these thoughts to allow for some form of sanity to come back to his overwrought mind. His gaze falls instantly onto the hordes of books strewn over his room, the hundreds of historical novels, bibles, teachings that he has collected throughout his life. He is skeptical that they would be able to calm him completely, yet� they would prove to be a distraction, something to focus in on to prevent his mind from racing.
He reaches out and takes one of the books, a Latin scripture. The language is simple to him now, and he reads it as easily as he would his first language. Yet, the concepts within it are difficult to make him concentrate his attention fully on the words, to take away some measure of that obsessive impulse to watch the mirror. However, he cannot keep his eyes from flickering to the broken glass every few minutes, just to make sure.
And he cannot stop himself from speaking every few minutes, threats and scathing insults to the absent vampire. At least, that�s how it begins. The insults inevitably begin to soften, because there are only so many he can give, only so many angry comments. He eventually speaks of what he�s reading. His voice is laced with a defensive sarcasm, thinly veiled irritation, but his words are genuine. It�s a fascinating book � all of them are, since Anderson makes a point not to surround himself with what he considers trash � and speaking of it somehow calms him.
He�s neither acknowledging his innate fear of the vampire, nor his hatred. Simple acknowledgement bereft of such emotions seems far more easy to handle, and he eventually finds himself relaxing.
He has no idea if the vampire is listening, but either way, he doesn�t much care at this point. He�s not pouring his heart out, certainly; it�s not a demeaning topic of discussion by any means. Therefore, if Alucard is listening � which is possible, since the emptiness suddenly seems lessened � Anderson does not truly mind.
The day progresses without change.
Anderson throws down the book irately. �You�re still not going to show yourself?� he demands irritably, staring over at the empty reflection. Nothing�s changed, there isn�t the faintest stir of life that can be connected to the vampire. At this point, there�s a small part of Anderson that�s wondering if he imagined the entire encounter.
He pushes the thought away and forces himself to finish the night as he would any other. The same routine of bathing, fixing himself a few drinks to take off the edge of obsessive alertness, and then falling asleep after finding himself sufficiently sedated. He knows tonight he�ll have to skip the alcohol � it�s too much of a hazard to disable his senses in such a way � and he�ll have to simply fall asleep through natural means.
Rarely an easy thing to do.
Anderson showers in hot water, trying to will himself into a state of relaxation. It works sufficiently enough, sending him into a doze. The tension has taken its toll, and even his regeneration cannot ward off the emotional drain of such stress. He lets himself relax, trying to keep his mind in the somewhat calmed state that he had achieved through his reading.
He steps out of the shower somewhat placated, but the relaxation is quickly stolen away when he sees the faintest glimmer of crimson from the edge of his vision. His gaze snaps to the empty mirror, and he briefly considers shattering it. Had he really seen a flash of Alucard�s eyes, or is his mind just trying to see something that�s not there?
Anderson dresses and walks out of the living room � stomps, more like � and he tosses himself onto the couch heavily. The springs creak under his sudden weight, and Anderson grimaces at the uncomfortable sensation of metal against his back. He does not have the money to get something better � he�s barely surviving on what he has now. With his history of violence and deception, work is almost impossible to find, and he�s left with the money from a few brief jobs here and there.
Even the churches would not have him now.
Anderson closes his eyes, tries to find some melodic chain of thoughts that might calm him enough to slip into unconsciousness. While other people find unconsciousness easily, Anderson always has to trick himself, to delude his body and mind in order to get to that deep state of relaxation.
Anderson stares at the ceiling for an inordinate amount of time. He finds it strangely disturbing that he knows exactly how far the moonlight has shifted across the ceiling, as well as how many serrated shadows there are amongst the ceiling from the window blinds. His mind feels oddly blank, and while his body feels utterly exhausted, his eyes refuse to slide closed.
�You�re doing this to me on purpose, aren�t you?� asks Anderson irately, turning to bury himself against the back of the couch, arm thrown over his head in an effort to block out all sight and sound. A bold move, muffling his senses in such a way, but he�s desperate.
He can�t let Alucard have this kind of dominion over him.
At some point, Anderson does manage to slip into a deeper realm of sleep. It�s not a complete sleep, but it is a numb, thoughtless daze. He is distantly aware of his surroundings, but not cognitively thinking of them. Memories slip away and he finds himself in a comfortable state of unfeeling, a form of sleep he has longed for. The night terrors and dreams of falling into a blackened hell had been an excessive, continuous burden since the war.
But he feels different. There�s a comforting sensation in this sleep, a presence he�s almost positive is the vampire. He�s simply too far into his daze to care about this revelation, and he simply relishes in the strange sleepful companionship.
Some time passes, but he�s barely aware of it. He�s aware of nothing, at least not beyond his subconscious alertness. Only when he feels cold sensations against his flesh does he realize he�s dreaming. It�s a dim, sightless dream, but he can definitely interpret the feel of cold flesh against his face, an icy caress.
Anderson doesn�t feel any measure of panic at this, just a faint curiosity. He stirs and leans into the touch. Long, slender fingers, too broad to be female are stroking his scar. The fingernails lightly scrape beneath his jaw, over his jugular with a worshipful fascination only a vampire would have.
Anderson can feel the tips of hair tickling against his cheeks, another hand touching the more intimate regions of his torso, sharp fingernails lightly tickling across his ribcage. Anderson recoils from the touch; even in such a deeply unconscious state, he cannot shake off his innate reservations concerning intimacy.
The hand follows Anderson�s retreat, pressing insistently against his chest. Anderson lightly growls under his breath with irritation, trying to avoid the sinful caresses. But his resistance is cut short when he feels a cold kiss press to the corner of his lips. It�s a strange sensation, the feel of lips on his. Yet, at the same time, it feels like he isn�t being kissed at all. Anderson knows it�s the twin sensation of reality and the dream, existing in both and neither, feeling both and neither.
The kiss becomes insistent, a cold tongue pressing against his lips until Anderson cannot help but succumb to it. Anderson has kissed before, certainly, but intimately? No, even as a boy, he had been pious and resistant to temptation. He doesn�t respond, but he allows the kiss to continue one-sided, concentrating his focus on the new sensation.
It�s not disgusting, not repulsive. It�s actually quite pleasant, in the way cold water is during a hot day. It�s simultaneously exciting, yet soothing.
At least, soothing until Anderson feels the telltale prick of fangs against his lower lip.
Consciousness comes to him so quickly it�s dizzying, and Anderson sits up only to find that his body is aroused, his breath short. The kiss � as short and unrequited as it was � had taken it�s effect on his body. He can feel the tight pressure in his groin, the sensation he had long since come to loathe due to his oath of celibacy.
This in itself is an alarming development, but as Anderson�s eyes focus, he realizes a pair of iridescent crimson eyes are staring back at him through the darkness.
Anderson has the karambit in his hand in an instant, swiping the blade towards the creature. The attack is fruitless, and his hand simply slides through the transparent image of the vampire with ease, not so much as leaving a single mark on the pale skin. Alucard is smirking at him, in that way that isn�t entirely mocking, yet not entire kind.
Whatever string of expletives and threats that Anderson is inspired to shout are quickly cut off when the vampire lunges for him, and their lips are again pressed together. Anderson feels suddenly furious that the vampire can so easily touch him, they he cannot do the same. He can only punch and claw at thin air, hands unable to harm the semi-transparent specter.
Anderson recoils, but he finds himself trapped in the tendrils of shadows that coil around his body. The panic of being restrained is quickly overrun by anger. The fury is mingled with an insistent, unwelcome lust that only increases when the vampire�s cold fingers slide up Anderson�s thigh. One hand slides beneath his hips to touch a place far too intimate, too personal.
Anderson shouts a muffled curse and tries to arch away from the touch, but it�s a fruitless effort. The sensation of being touched like this is overwhelming, and Anderson finds himself too short of breath to form anything but a few broken threats. The karambit knife slips from his grasp, clattering to the floor.
An icy hand places flat against his groin, a cold pressure against his cock that causes Anderson cry out, a startled, desperate noise.
Anderson�s thrashing and struggling subsides an instant as he tries to calm himself, but such a thing becomes impossible with Alucard�s fingers begins to massage in a way that sends sparks of pleasure through Anderson�s entire body. He arches into the sensation with a reluctant moan, a sound that seems to rip from his throat against his will.
Anderson�s eyes seek out the vampire�s as he succumbs to the sinful caresses. Alucard�s eyes seem distant, an almost Zen-like expression of concentration crossing the vampire�s features. That intense expression causes another flash of heated desire to flare in Anderson�s body, and he closes his eyes briefly, unable to do anything other than yield to it.
Anderson struggles briefly when the vampire�s fingers deftly begin to undo the clasp on his pants, but even then he knows that it�s a losing battle. A battle of pain, he can endure with pride. But of pleasure, of a fundamental physical need that�s been denied his entire life� that is not a battle he can win.
He arches up when the pants are slid down his hips, the scrape of fabric against his skin strangely invigorating. The rush of cold air is stimulating, and Anderson vaguely wonders if he�s forming an addiction to the arctic caresses. The cold is only intensified when Alucard�s hand wraps around his cock. The pleasure that burns through Anderson�s body warms him entirely, and he gives another weakened cry that sounds like bitter defeat.
The hand pauses briefly, and Anderson is simultaneously relieved and angry. He is close, too close � there is no way to control himself, not when this is the first time. His hands grasp onto the fabric of the couch, his chest tightens as the pleasure edges onto the brink of climax. Alucard�s gaze does not leave his groin, the precise concentration never wavering.
�Alucard,� rasps Anderson, arching into his hand. The vampire�s gaze snaps to his eyes, a smile on his lips. Anderson�s silent plea, his surrender is heard and answered. The vampire�s hand tightens around his cock, the cold vice around the sensitive flesh enough to bring Anderson instantly to climax.
Anderson bites down on the cry of pleasure that threatens to leave his lips, but he cannot stop himself from groaning. The hot pulses of ecstasy slide through his body, filling him with a kind of calm exhaustion that does not feel as good as he knows it should. The shame of the act, the sudden anger and humiliation slip through his mind, but Anderson lacks the will or ability to act on such feelings now.
Slowly, Alucard releases him, the fingers slipping away from his body. The shadows recede away, and Anderson is left completely unrestrained, covered in his own filth and a sheen of sweat. The semi-transparent vampire is unruffled, utterly composed; Anderson loathes him for it.
Alucard doesn�t speak, and neither does Anderson. There�s a lack of anything to say at this point, and Alucard fills the empty silence by stealing a kiss. Anderson instantly recoils and bares his teeth in frustration, but he doesn�t make an effort again to attack the vampire. Alucard withdraws after a moment, lightly touching Anderson�s sweat-damped bangs.
Turning away from the caress, Anderson composes himself, redoing his pants and straightening his clothes. When he looks up again, Alucard is gone.
Anderson is hardly startled by this, and he is too tired to be angry. He can be angry tomorrow, possibly when he�s finally over being confused.
Exhaustedly, Anderson closes his eyes, his breath slowing and deepening. Sleep comes with an unusual swiftness, although it is not dreamless. Anderson sees images of crimson eyes and the vampire�s expression during their intimacy, that concentrated focus that had almost seemed tender.
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Seventh Year Misfortune