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Puppetry	By : Crystalwren Category: Hellsing > General Views: 2274 -:- 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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Sucker love is heaven
sent.

You pucker up, our passion's spent.

My hearts a tart, your body's rent.

My body's broken, yours is bent.

Carve your name into my arm.

Instead of stressed, I lie here charmed.

Cuz there's nothing else to do,

Every me and every you.

Every You, Every Me � Placebo

Heat
rose in shimmering waves from concrete paths and bitumen roads. The sun blazed
in the sky like an inferno and dogs crawled under houses to die and the sick
and the elderly collapsed in droves.

The
roses bloomed.

The
gardens planted by Integra�s mother reacted to the heat by putting on an
extravagant display of flowers and foliage. In the dusk the thick perfume made
Walter�s head ache and the noise of the birds clamoured inside his skull until
it rang. He found her, the light of the setting sun dying her hair a burning,
bloody red, and when she turned to face him he couldn�t see her eyes.

�Sir
Integra,� he said, �it�s time to get ready.�

Later
in the dressing room he surveyed her. In a different world he would have told
her that she looked lovely and she would have accepted the complement for what
it was and smiled. In this world she didn�t look lovely and would never accept
a compliment even if she did. Integra looked cold, distant, imposing, a Knight
of the Round Table in surcoat and sword. Khaki green didn�t suit her and that
was precisely the reason why she wore it. The old man forced a smile. �The car
is prepared and waiting,� he said, fussing at her hair.

�Leave
it,� she told him when he picked up a comb. He frowned and set it back on the
dressing table. �That will have to do.�

Walter
sighed. He tugged at a sleave until it sat just right. �I wish you would rest.�

�One
does not refuse the invitation of a queen, Walter.�

�Yes,
Sir Integra,� and he felt the familiar weight of reluctance settling in his
gut. �Your tiepin is crooked,� he added.

�Don�t
fret so,� she told him, but he ignored her. The metal of the cross was warm
under his fingers and he stuck the tip of the pin between his teeth for safe
keeping. Pulling the silk of the cravat out from under her jacket, he deftly
untied it and reknotted it. The familiar pleasure of doing a simple task well
and with elegance; the fading familiarity with the heat of her body as she
slowly regained both her health and her independence; the familiar feeling of
tiptoeing around the sleeping jaguar, wondering if this would be the final
piece in the puzzle she needed for the truth about him. Walter fixed his eyes
firmly on blue silk and skewered it firmly with the tiepin. He folded her
collar back down and finally raised his gaze back to hers. Blue
eyes. Integra�s blue, blue eyes. She stared
hard at him, long enough for his heart to make a single, clumsy thud. She said,
�Let�s go,� and he followed in her wake and the tap of her cane. The metallic
taste in his mouth lingered on for a very long time.

�Meetings, conferences,
consultations. Meeting with the Queen. Debates with the Round Table. She pushed herself as
mercilessly as always, determined to make up for her long illness. When
presented with the chip of vampire tooth that the doctor had dug out of her
neck, the source of the infection, she�d hissed impatiently and tossed the
little baggie in the bin. �I don�t have time for such foolishness.�

Walter
had fished the baggie out when she wasn�t looking, and in a moment of whimsy,
he�d thought of having the tiny fleck of ivory set into a ring or pendant. In
the end, however, he had placed the baggie into a box hidden in a chest of
drawers in his bedroom, a box that also held a beautiful red satin nightgown.

�I
wish you would rest,� he said again, as she clambered into the limo. He
followed her before she could object and sat himself across from her. �You
can�t keep pushing yourself like this.�

The
intercom clicked softly and the driver�s voice came over the speaker. �Director
Hellsing, do you still need your bodyguard?�

Integra
scowled. �No,� she said finally, �Walter will suffice.� She turned off the
intercom and ratted around in her coat before producing a cigarillo. Completely
ignoring Walter�s look of disapproval, she bit the tip off and spat it into her
palm. Dropping it into an ashtray set in the armrest she said, �Do you have a
light?�

He
grudgingly produced a cigarette lighter; something that habit had made him carry
even though up until now, Integra hadn�t needed it. He shook it, uncertain if
there was even any fuel left in it. It sloshed; he flicked the spark wheel and
a pale yellow flame appeared. Integra leant forward, sucking eagerly at the
cigarillo until it caught alight. Taking a deep breath and holding it for as
long as she could, she shuddered with pleasure and smiled dreamily. �God,� she
said, exhaling clouds of violet smoke, �God, I missed this.�

�Doctor
Trevallyn had hoped you would take the opportunity to quit entirely.�

�Doctor
Trevallyn hoped wrong. Good grief, Walter, don�t be such an old woman.�

That
was another bad habit of hers, Walter reflected as he slipped the cigarette
lighter over his knuckles in a parlour trick he�d perfected at the ripe age of
fourteen.� She used gender as though it
were an insult. Don�t be such an old woman. Don�t nag,
you sound like a fishwife. Don�t be such a girl. Tucking the lighter away he
felt suddenly sad and he snuck a glance at her, at the masculine clothing, the
men�s overcoat, the men�s boots, the ruthlessly plain
white shirt. Somewhere along the line Integra had started to hate her femineity
and not for the first time he wondered how different she would have been if her
mother had lived.

�Allow
me some indulgences,� she said wearily, as if she�d read his mind. �So, do you
want to tell me what this is in aid of? Weren�t you scheduled to oversee troop
exercises this morning?�

�I�m certain Ferguson will manage on his own,� replied Walter. �I wanted to
talk to you. In private,� he added, the both of them knowing that there was no
such thing as privacy in a mansion that housed a creature like the vampire
Alucard.

She
arched an eyebrow and tapped the cigarillo over the ashtray built into the
armrest. �Spit it out.�

�You
are pushing yourself too hard. Doctor Trevallyn is concerned that you may
relapse.�

The
close confines of the car made the smoke condense into little mare�s tails
around her face. She appeared distant and surreal, like something he�d seen
once in a dream.

�If
I relapse,� she said, �I will get up again. Besides, there�s no one to do it
for me.�

�You
have me,� snapped Walter. �Don�t you realise that?� and immediately knew that
this time he�d said too much.

Vulnerability
flashed across her eyes and her mouth hardened into a thin line. �Walter,� she
said quietly, stubbing out her cigarillo in quick, angry movements, �Is
there�is there anything you want to tell me?�

Through
the sensation of every bone in his body turning to ice he said, with absolute
honesty, �Nothing whatsoever.�

There
was a terrifying silence.

The
voice of the driver crackled over the intercom. �We�ve arrived at Buckinghuge
Palace, marm.�

��Very good,� she glowered at Walter.

The
car slowed and came to a halt. Before Walter could move she grabbed the handle
and opened the door herself. One last piercing looking at his face and she got
out.� He followed after her, feeling numb
all over.

**

He
was locked out of the meeting room, of course, and he ended up in the
antechamber with the rest of the stewards, lackeys and general hangers-on. He
smiled at some, nodded affably at others and gave certain individuals the hairy
eyeball. These men were none of them his contemporaries. Everyone from Walter�s
youth was dead, or retired, or insane and at these gatherings he was treated in
much the same way you�d treat an old warhorse; the cheerful condescension for
something past its glory days, a wary respect for its past capabilities, and a
barely-concealed fear of what would happen if it suddenly got it in its head to
be dangerous. Allowing himself to be drawn into a little clinic, he did his
best to join in on the conversation but all he could think of was how young
they looked, and he was so old.

�It�s
hot,� complained one of his companions, and immediately the group chorused in
agreement. Walter smiled politely and watched the conference room door.

�God
I need a holiday,� groaned another. �I�d go somewhere nice and cool. Siberia. Siberia is good this time of year.�

�A
holiday!� said a man whom Walter vaguely remembered as being attached to Sir
Islands, �How long has it been since I had once of those! Not since I started
working for the old gentleman.�

�Ah,
your holidaying days are over,� smirked the individual who�d started it all.
�You�ve joined up with the Knights of the Round Table. Your life belongs to
them. Leisure will be eternally out of your grasp. Isn�t that right, Walter,
old son?�

�Mm?� said Walter, tearing his eyes away from the door.

�How
long has it been since your last holiday?�

�I�ve
never had a holiday. I�ve never needed one. Hellsing�s all I ever needed. Why
would I want to leave?�

There
was a short, stunned silence. They stared at him with expressions very close to
horror. Then conversation resumed awkwardly around him.

It
was several hours before the conference doors opened. Her Royal Highness, the
Queen of Britain glided gracefully through the ranks of men standing at
attention and into a more private section of the palace. Integra stalked out
with everyone else, stabbing at the floor with her cane and her face a perfect
mask of serene calm. She smiled sweetly at Walter, who had to throttle the
sudden urge to run for it.

�Shall
we?� she purred, and he bowed in reply. He fell in behind her and as they left
Walter could feel the combined gaze of everyone in the room on his back.

�Please
slow down, remember that you were in a wheelchair just a few weeks ago,� was
what Walter wanted to say as various palace flunkies dived out of Integra�s way
to avoid being run over. He wasn�t tired of living quite yet so he kept his
mouth shut and trotted after her obediently.�
The limo was waiting for them in the courtyard and Integra threw herself
inside without so much as pausing.

�Go,�
she snarled as Walter shut the door behind him. The limo pulled out in a crunch
of gravel and Integra turned off the intercom and began to swear.

�Misbegotten, inbred, ignorant sons of whores!�� She hissed. �How dare they? How dare they?�

�The
issue of marriage and a successor to Hellsing again?� asked Walter meekly.

�No!
I told you, I have eggs frozen!� Integra made a visible effort to calm herself and fished her cigar case out of her coat. She
opened it, selected a cigarillo and slipped the case back into a pocket. She
ripped the cellophane off in a single impatient gesture and said, �what those
ignorant, dickless bastards did,� and here she paused to bite the tip of
the cigarillo off in a frighteningly vicious gesture that made Walter whimper
softly to himself and cross his legs, �was spend three and a half fucking hours
accusing me, in front of Her Majesty, of not putting enough resources
into finding out the origin of the freak chip! That isn�t our job, that is
not our job!�

Her
hand shook visibly as she put the cigarillo in her mouth. Knowing the simple
inevitability of what was going to happen, Walter lit it for her. A single hard
drag was all it took and Integra choked and began to cough. The cigarillo fell
to the floor and Walter stomped on it as he leant forward and caught her in his
arms before she ended up on the floor, too. The only woman Walter had ever
loved shuddered and fought for breath in his arms and all he could do was rub
her back and offer up empty words of comfort, as worthless and as meaningless
as bits of dandelion fluff.

**

It
was still early in the evening when Walter made his weary way back to his
rooms. Nice to have an early night for once but the reason behind it- Doctor
Trevallyn lecturing and finally sedating an obstinate Integra- lacked a certain
appeal.

He
opened the door, was surprised, but recovered quickly. �I haven�t seen you look
like that for a very long time,� he said.

There
was a little girl sitting on Walter�s bed, a pretty little girl with long black
hair and white skin. Her fringe fell adorably into her red, slit-pupil eyes and
when she smiled her fangs poked out from under her lip. �I was feeling
nostalgic,� she piped and swung her feet. Walter stripped off his tie and
stopped with his hands hovering about the buttons of his vest. �What�s the
matter?�

�Nothing,�
said Walter. He kicked off his shoes instead and dropped into his armchair.

�I�ve
seen you naked many times,� she reminded him reproachfully.

�I
know, Alucard, I know. Allow me an old man�s quirks.� The little girl shrugged
and swung her feet some more. �So, what can I do for you?�

�All
business,� sighed Alucard, �Such a shame.� She slipped
off the bed and hiked up her little girl dress so that she could clamber into
Walter�s lap. �All work and no play makes Walter a
dull boy,� and he promptly shoved her away.

�I
am not, and never have been, interested in little girls,� he said levelly as
Alucard picked herself up off the floor and set her dress to rights.

�Well,
you know that and I know that,� she cooed, �but Integra doesn�t know that.�

�Meaning?�

�Meaning
that she�s beginning to put two and two together,� and Walter groaned and
covered his face with his hands. �She�s almost figured it out. Having a bit of trouble believing it though.�

�And?�

�And
she isn�t happy.�

Walter
dropped his hands to his lap and stared at them, rubbing his fingers together and
feeling the metal of his rings underneath the leather. �I am not the first
person to develop an infatuation with Integra. I doubt I will be the last.�

�Oh,
absolutely,� agreed Alucard, hopping back onto the bed, �but it�s different
with you and you know it.�

�Does
she know�?�

��about
our little game?� Alucard grinned. �Of course not.
You�re still alive, aren�t you?� and Walter was able to summon up the faintest
ghost of a smile.

�I
wonder what she�d do to you.�

�Nothing. She needs me, but she doesn�t trust me. You on
the other hand��

�You�re
a monster.�

�What
does that make you?� from out of thin air the little girl produced a familiar
red hat and put it on. Titled, it gave her a rather jaunty look. �Give it a
rest. False righteousness makes my teeth ache.� She blew him a kiss. �Until tomorrow, lover.� She sank down through the bed until
she disappeared entirely.

Walter
got undressed and went and had a shower, but as soon as he got out he became
sticky and sweaty again and it seemed like he needn�t have bothered. He slept
naked, and the roar of the air conditioning made him dream of dragons and steam
trains.

**

He
awoke so early it was late. Still dark outside the window
when he twitched aside the curtain. Rising, he went straight to the
shower. Masturbated like it was a chore and not a pleasure and then turned the
hot water off and stood in the cold until his fingers and toes were icicles and
his genitalia (the source of so much trouble in his life) staged a strategic
retreat into his pelvic cavity. The blissful sensation of coolness didn�t last
long; before he�d even finished dressing he was sweating again. Standing on a
chair, he pressed his hand against the central air con grill. There was
nothing, and Walter hopped down with a resigned sigh. To all intents and
purposes, the air conditioning machines had finally given up the ghost trying
to cope with the freak weather conditions. He opened the windows in the hopes
of catching a breeze but all was in vain. It hadn�t cooled down at all
overnight and the sun coming up over the horizon promised much worse to come.

He
left the room and headed towards the kitchens, where a newspaper would be
waiting along with the first cup of tea of the day.

�Good
morning, Mr Dornez,� all efficiency and politeness a baker stopped his
suffocating work over the ovens long enough to fetch a pot of tea. This was a
small, guilty pleasure for Walter; these rare occasions when he was the
one being served and usually he�d find a quiet corner out of the way and watch
with all the satisfaction of one knowing that all the work was going to be done
by someone else for a change but the huge ovens, built to feed a couple hundred
people all at once, combined with the broken air conditioning to turn the
kitchen into an oversized furnace. Waler grabbed his tea and paper, stole a
fresh bread roll and went outside to eat. The garden was full of screaming
birds fighting madly over what water remained in the ornamental ponds. To
conserve water Integra had ordered the gardens and lawns abandoned and they
were rapidly turning dust. She couldn�t bring herself to let the roses die,
however, and they were flourishing, looking like something out of a fairytale
or else a very English jungle. Sitting down on a stone bench to have breakfast,
Walter found himself eyeing the roses over the top of his newspaper,
half-expecting to see a painted cat come gliding out from under the cover of
the foliage.

�No
jaguars in London, Angel of Death,� said Alucard.

�You�re
up late,� replied Walter frowning in annoyance as the vampire stole a sip of
his tea.

The
big vampire looked more than a little ridiculous, hunched down in the shadow of
a bush, huddling under his hat and coat. What Walter could see of his face was
set into lines of utter disgust. �I itch. You humans are insane, being
out in the sun day after day.�

�If
it bothers you,� said Walter serenely, �feel free to leave,� and then sneezed. �Blasted roses.� His nose began to ache.

�Have
you ever read the story of Sleeping Beauty?�

Walter
let the newspaper fall to his lap. �Yes. Yes I have.�

�Have
you ever wondered what the purpose of the briars was?�

�To
protect the sleeping princess, I always thought.�

�When
I first heard the story it occurred to me to wonder if the bits with the fairy
godmothers were added in later.�

�I�m
afraid I don�t follow you, Lord Alucard.�

�The
briars belonged to Beauty; they were both protection and a test. Sleeping
Beauty was not sleeping. She was waiting.�

Biting
his lip, Walter stared hard at his reflection in the lenses of Alucard�s
sunglasses. �I have no idea what you�re talking about.�

�Think.�

�Have
you ever, in your long existence, been straightforward? Must you always talk in
bizarre riddles?�

�Of course. It�s no fun otherwise.�

�Mr
Dornez?� Walter turned around. The gardener stood there; rake in one hand,
secateurs in the other, bemused expression on her face. �I�m sorry, sir. I
thought I heard you talking to someone.�

�I
was talking to myself,� said Walter smoothly. �Sorry if I bothered you.�

�Not
at all, sir,� and her hand twitched like she wanted to salute. �If you�ll
excuse me,� and the ex-solider walked past, her gait so even despite her
prosthetic leg that if Walter hadn�t known better he�d have sworn she was
whole.

The
old man finished his tea and gave the newspaper up for another time, noticing
too late that the Cheshire Cat of a vampire had not only ruined the morning
with ridiculous riddles, but had also taken a great big bite out of Walter�s
bread roll. �It�s not like you�d even actually swallow it once it�s in your
mouth. Why bother stealing what you can�t eat?� he muttered in disgust,
throwing the remains to the drab, noisy sparrows. �Shit-stirrer,� and as he
walked back to the kitchen to return the cup and teapot, he could hear
something sniggering.

**

Vampires
are cold by nature; they reacted to the heat by retreating into storm drains
and mausoleums, lurking in the damp coolness as they waited for the heatwave to
end. The incidents of reported vampire attacks decreased sharply, as did
London�s homeless population when they entered the various vampire lairs with
much the same reason in mind. London�s luckier residents stayed at home with
icy compresses on their melting foreheads whilst large numbers of obnoxious
warm-climate itinerants walked around saying, �Now, this is what�s called a real
summer!�

All
that day Walter sweltered in his office, the windows thrown open in the forlorn
hope that a breeze might stagger through. At periodic intervals he�d ring
maintenance and ask how soon before the air conditioning was fixed and would be
told, not long now, Mr Dornez, almost to the bottom of the problem, Mr Dornez,
an hour or two at the most, Mr Dornez, and it was all his could do to stop
himself from yelling in frustration. First the gloves came off; then the tie,
then finally the vest and shoes and socks and Walter read statistics on missing
persons and surfed the net, checking on all the
websites and forums of serial killers and vampire wanna-bes, wiggling his toes
in the carpet. So hot. He called for the secretary, a
fortunate woman who got to wear the lightest of skirts and blouses while he was
stuck with long trousers and formal dress shirts.

�Please
have Sir Integra�s teacart stocked.�

The
secretary fixed her eyes firmly on the wall behind him and not, as she so
obviously wanted to do, on the open collar of his shirt and said, �I think
she�s sleeping, sir. She gave orders that she�d be in her apartment in case of
emergency.�

�I�ll
go see her,� said Walter with a frown, not liking the feeling of being left out
of the loop. After the secretary left he put his garments to rights and left
the stifling office for the even more stifling corridor, where soldiers and
various support personnel drooped like wilting flowers.

Integra�s
private rooms could be accessed via a door in her main office and it was through
there Walter walked, silent as a mouse. Through the private
study, lined with books and into the large living area, filled with more books,
the walls hung with paintings and prints of lions, tigers, jaguars and
cheetahs. Integra loved cats, although she�d rather die than admit that,
and he would have bought her a kitten a long time ago if he hadn�t known that
Alucard would only eat it out of sheer spite and jealousy. The curtains in this
room were thrown back, the windows open as far as they could go and the
sunshine poured into the room like honey. On the lounge he saw her; before the
lounge he stopped still and simply stared, his heart in his mouth. Her hair was
braided and pinned to the top of her head, tendrils escaping to glue themselves
to her forehead and neck. She wore one of her white shirts, sleeves rolled up
and the bottom tied under her breasts, and riding low on her hips and high on
her thighs were a pair of skimpy, ancient shorts that he vaguely remembered her
thieving from a cousin when she was still a teenager. The expanses of bare skin
were sticky with sweat and with the sunlight coming down she looked like a
creature made of gold and dark, sticky molasses.

Beautiful,
was all Walter could think as he watched her sleep, open and vulnerable and so
very desirable. Beautiful with her coffee-cream skin darkening, her blonde hair
bleaching, her glasses perched precariously on the tip
of her nose and a sheaf of papers clutched to her scarred and naked stomach. He
stared; he stared for the longest time, wanting to touch her so badly that his
hands shook and finally he folded them behind his back and at the soft rasp of
cloth a frown darted across her face and her mouth twitched. Walter knew that
he was a dead man if she woke and caught him standing over her, so he coughed,
discreetly, tearing his gaze away and fixing it on the blue sky outside the
window.

There
was a soft, emphatic click and he lowered his eyes to look down the business
end of Integra�s Walther PPK handgun.

�Help
you?� she asked, her voice slurred by sleep, and, as Walter belatedly noticed
an open bottle of pills on the floor beside her, by drugs as well. �Walter?�
she blinked, her eyes focusing, waking up properly. She looked bemusedly at her
gun as though wondering how it had come to be in her hand and then put it away.

Walter
stared at some place beyond her right ear, and not at all at her breasts or
belly or those lovely long legs covered in golden down. A bland, polite smile
graced his features. He had, of course, see her wearing
far less clothing than this before. �I came to ask if you wanted morning tea,
marm.�

�Yes.
Of course. Very good,� she said. She brushed a lock of
hair out of her face as he bowed and turned to leave. �Walter?�

�Yes,
Sir Integra?�

�How-
how long were you standing there?�

�Marm?�
he injected as much puzzlement into his voice as he could.

�Never mind.�

On
the way back to his office to get the tea things, he stopped by a small
bathroom. He ran the tap, intending to wash his face, but found that all he
could do was clutch the sides of the basin and shake, watch the water run down
the porcelain, thanking all the angels in the sky that he�d wanked in the
shower that morning and that the inevitable erection as only now starting to
form.

�God,�
he hissed, �God. Jesus Christ almighty, grant me strength.�
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Puppetry