Hellsing Fan Fiction ❯ Amoare ab Hostis ❯ Chapter 13 ( Chapter 13 )

~~Five years later~~

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Walter hated cleaning Athur's study. The number of times he'd considered appointing a lower member of the staff to the task couldn't be counted on all the fingers and toes in London. But being the head butler of the Hellsing family required certain responsibilities be undertaken; certain secrets be kept. And somewhere near the very top of that list were the confidential little odds and ends one discovered while dusting the current Sir Hellsing's liquor cabinent. A lowly mop and bucket boy couldn't be trusted, and so Walter bore the heavy atmosphere whenever he and Arthur were shut away in a room together, alone with all the words that had gone unspoken between them for fifteen years.

He felt Arthur's guilt, his strained reluctance to speak to him as keenly as a heavy blanket swathed around his shoulders. It made the air oppressive and thick, and Walter grit his teeth as the scratching of Athur's pen stopped for the fifth time since he'd arrived and felt his employer's gaze upon him. Arthur drew a quick, shallow breath and Walter dearly hoped he wouldn't speak and break the routine they'd settled into for over a decade. 'Please,' he prayed silently. 'Not now, Arthur...not after all this time.'

The older man surprised him. The sound of a his pen rasping over paper filled the room again and Walter let out a slow, quiet breath as the tense moment passed. Finishing up hurriedly, he gathered his things and stooped as he placed them neatly in a plastic carrier. Straightening Walter spared himself a rueful grin as his back muscles gave a small twinge of protest.

He was thirty-three now, head butler to Sir Hellsing, and a cultured and civilized man. So far removed from the rough-spoken, wild teenager he'd been with his vampire lover...

"Walter?"

Cursing himself for getting lost in old memories, Walter stopped midway to the door. His heart was beating rapidly and his mouth had gone dry as he turned to face Arthur. He knew it was stupid, getting this worked up over an apology that had long ago ceased to matter, but he still had to fight to control his breathing as he answered, "Yes, Sir Arthur?"

Arthur's hazel eyes were tortured as he looked at his younger friend. His face betrayed a deeply felt helplessness. "Walter...you know I can't."

Walter's jaw clenched tightly as a wave of anger roiled through him. Not even an apology. He kept his mouth shut, fighting against the angry accusations that he wanted to shout at the man behind the ancient desk at the center of the room.

"My father," Arthur continued. "He made me promise. It was his dying wish, I couldn't possibly..."

Clenching his gloved hands tightly Walter took a deep, shaky breath. He forced himself not to lose his temper and scream at his one time friend and ally. He had a single point to make, and he wanted it clearly understood. "He was more of a brother to you than Rupert ever was a father." He growled.

"You'll do well to remember your place," Arthur said, his eyes going cold, and added pointedly, "Butler."

Nodding stiffly, Walter gave Arthur his back and left the room, shutting the door behind him with a intentional gentleness. Only when he'd gotten a good five paces away did he relax the tight hold he had subconsciously drawn on his strings.

***

He heard a loud buzzing like white noise amplified a hundredfold as his faded vision cleared with an agonizing slowness. The pain receded and was replaced with an intense tingling, as though when limbs fall asleep and blood begins to trickle back into starved nerve endings.

"Good," Ursula, as he'd come to know her after that fateful day in the lab five years ago, said approvingly. A few pieces of long, dark brown hair slipped out of her bun and stuck to the line of blood streaking her cheek as she bent over her clipboard. Tossing away the bloody bonesaw dangling from her fingers she turned to face him. "How does your arm feel?"

"New." Alexander answered.

"I thought we'd talked about your jokes?" She clucked her tongue, then ordered, "Make a fist."

Alex did and watched in fascination as his fingers curled tightly into his palm at his command. "Amazing," he murmured.

"Hmm, yes. But we'll have to keep practising if you're going to pass out like that every time. What will you do on the battlefield? Faint your opponent to death?"

"Now who's cracking jokes?" Alex glared at her, twisting his newly reformed shoulder joint in its socket.

"On occasion." Ursula smiled and took a seat at the computer, drawing up his file and entering the new data gathered that day. "Hmm, only a few more treatments left to go..." she muttered to herself.

"More? Haven't I completed the program yet? I mean, I can do this," he held up his arm for emphasis.

"Yes, but the reformation process is still a bit slow. Also, you're not done yet. There is still one vital hurtle to overcome." She told him.

"If you say so," Alex shrugged, still absorbed by the play of bones in his hand when he drummed his fingers on the countertop.

"You'll begin to notice a decline in your aging process. Along with the ability to reform limbs, your cells themselves will regenerate at a more accelerated rate now. Your organs will completely reform themselves about once every few years. That process will slow down as the radiation in them deceases every half life of the chemicals we've pumped into you. Odds are that you'll remain the physiological and mental equivalent of thirty years old for the next five years or more..."

"That's good. Gives me plenty of time to track down that vampire bastard and kill him."

Ursula's interest peaked at this bit of information and she turned in her chair. "Oooh," she cooed nastily. "Does the test gerbil have a little grudge?"

Alex glared at her. "No, I have a very big vendetta."

"Why a vampire?" she asked with genuine interest.

"Ghouls murdered my parents. The vampire controlling them gave me this," he pointed to the scar on the left side of his face. "Iscariot showed up just before he managed to torture me any further. He would have killed me eventually."

"So you want to get revenge for your parents?"

"No. That's just what started my obsession." Alex told her. "Iscariot killed that freak, and cheated me out of my vengence for their deaths."

"So, who's the lucky vamp then?" Ursula asked, studying a fleck of blood under her fingernail.

"I don't know his name," Alex said bitterly. "But I know his face. He never told me outright who he worked for, but he mentioned a master and seemed to have no great love for the Vatican or Iscariot. I've managed to piece it together."

Ursula looked up and smiled as she nodded. "Hellsing."

"Yes. It was their pet monster who killed Brian. I will destroy him!"

Ursula's eyed widened in alarm as Alex's fists curled so tightly that every vein in his arms became clearly visible. His face twisted as he grit his teeth, fighting a wave of rage that had been repressed for what appeared to be far too long. The realization that she was alone in a room with Iscariot's own monster struck her very clearly for a brief, terrifying moment. She didn't know who Brian was, or what he had meant to Alexander, but she knew without a doubt that she would not want to be this vampire of the Hellsing organization when Alex was released.

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Author's note: I've been feeling lately like I owe you all an explanation for the large time gaps this fic tends to jump forward to. I fear that perhaps the readers feel cheated or short-changed by the amount of material that isn't covered. Here is my answer. This fic covers a span of over 40 years. For me to write the day to day happenings over that time span would fill at least 3 novels. Most of all, this particular fic was never supposed to be a storytelling piece. It is intended to be read on a scene to scene basis. Short, brief glimpses into the pasts of the characters we love. I had at one point considered writing the entire story as a series of one-shot ficlets, but decided against it. So, there you have it; my excuse, and hopefully, a good explanation as well.