Hellsing Fan Fiction ❯ Stray Dog ❯ Scars ( Chapter 5 )

Disclaimer: Hellsing and all of its characters belong to Kouta Hirano, not to me. I am not making any money off of this piece of fanfiction.

 

Chapter 5: Scars

“I know ye're still watching me, wee Draculina!” Anderson shouted as he dodged the attack of one enraged demon. He was surrounded, and having a bit of a hard time keeping up with the small horde of enemies. “So are ye going tae sit up there and watch me suffer, or what?”

The sound of gunfire was his answer, and before he could blink, the three ghouls nearest him were dead. He made quick work of the rest, whipping bayonets through the air in rapid succession. Thunk, thunk, thunk, right on target. Blood spattered and ashes drifted on the breeze.

“I suppose ye expect tae be thanked,” he said, watching with guarded eyes as Seras dropped down out of the shadows.

“Arsehole.” She snapped, crossing her arms over her breasts. “I should have let you suffer.” She said it without real malice, flippantly, as though she were teasing a friend. He smiled at the absurdity of it, and wondered for the thousandth time why he hadn't killed her yet. They'd had a few encounters like this, since the night she'd saved Isabelle, and though he knew his promise to the girl had long since expired, he'd yet to make another serious attempt on the vampiress' life. Serious attempts not counting the fact that he still threw knives at her when he thought she was spying on him from the shadows.

“So ye did want tae be thanked, then?”

She rolled her eyes at the Judas Priest, and said “How about you stop trying to kill me, and we'll call it even?” She stuck out her hand, “Shake on it?”

“I'll think about it.” He said, dryly, ignoring her outstretched hand as he bent to pick one of his bayonets up off the ground. “Aren't ye going tae ask me again if I'm converting?”

“No, I've asked you once. It's up to you to answer.” She watched him stuff the deadly weapon into his coat…somewhere. “Where do you get all those?” She blurted out, before she could stop herself. When he was in one of his non-murderous moods, it was strangely easy to forget that they were not friends.

“My, aren't we a chatty lass tonight.”

“Well, it seems obvious enough that you aren't planning to attack me right yet. Thought I'd take advantage of this pleasant change of pace.” She tossed her hair, and changed the subject. “How is that girl?”

“How're ye so sure I'm not planning tae kill ye? I could be luring ye in as we speak.” He ignored her attempt.

“Trust me, Priest, I'd know. You aren't capable of subtlety where killing vampires is concerned.” He surprised her with a short bark of laughter.

“Aye, I dinna like tae trick demons into their deaths. I'd rather slaughter `em outright, and have `em ken why.” He bent over to pick up a blade. “Isabelle is well.” Anderson said, straightening up to watch his unlikely companion poke about the alley. She was very much like a child, doing and saying whatever damned thing popped into her head, and smiling at him in a way that almost made him forget that she was a mistress of Satan whom he'd tried to kill her on several separate occasions.

“Oh, that's good.” Seras grinned, flashing him her impressive teeth, as though she'd forgotten what he'd done to her the last time they met. Why the hell did she keep coming back?

“Are ye not afraid of me?” He blurted out, irritated at the casual way she was acting. She stopped her exploration of the alley on a stumbled step and turned to look at him. She considered him for a moment, red eyes roving over his body, and he had the strangest urge to straighten his back and stretch out to his full height. He resisted. Her gaze flicked up to his face, taking in his stubbly chin, bristly hair, and the massive scar that marred his features, before finally resting on his eyes. Their gazes met, and he held his breath.

“Terrified.” She stooped suddenly, picked a bayonet off the ground with those pale, pale, fingers of hers, and tossed it over to him. “Orders are orders.” He caught it easily, and it, too, disappeared within the recesses of his coat.

“They come from God.” He said, after a moment, answering her earlier question. “Ask and ye shall receive, so says the Good Book. I asked the Lord for the power tae defeat His enemies, and I was thus transformed. I asked the Lord for a means with which tae fight, and I am thus provided. And one day, Draculina,” he pointed a blade at her, menacingly, “it'll be yer death.”

 

***

 

Anderson splashed his face with cold water and stared into the mirror as the droplets trickled down his face. The little midian disconcerted him, threw him off. She was not like any of the other vampires he had ever had the displeasure of meeting. She seemed so human, yet he could clearly see that she was not.

He had so many questions he wanted to ask, and yet he somehow felt too shy to do so. Or perhaps he was afraid…afraid to come against something so contrary to everything he knew. Vampires were not supposed to be sweet, pretty lasses that he liked more and more every time he saw them. They were supposed to be vicious, bloodthirsty, murderous monsters who fed like beasts on innocent children. He didn't know how to reconcile those two images…especially not when she drank from a God damned blood bag!

“Hullo!”

Anderson whipped around wildly, bayonet appearing by startled reaction in his hand. Sweet Mary, there she was. Sitting on his windowsill, legs crossed one over the other, hands braced on either side of herself for balance.

“Didn't mean to startle you.” Seras held her hands up, the universal gesture for don't shoot! The quick movement disturbed her balance, and she shrieked and flailed a moment, nearly toppling backwards out the window before she managed to right herself. Also, she was pretty sure she'd just given him a full blown view of her panties, what with the short skirt and all the flailing. How embarrassing. A nervous laugh bubbled up out of her mouth.

“Ye're not welcome here,” Anderson growled, bayonet still in hand. How dare she invade his home! Wasn't it bad enough that she'd already conquered his thoughts?

“Well, that's a fine way to say thanks!” She huffed, sounding braver than she felt, and hopped off the windowsill, feet making barely a sound as they touched the floor inside his room.

“For what?” He felt suddenly defensive as he watched her gaze flit about the room. He found himself wishing that it was tidier…or that he'd at least made his bed that morning. There was something uncomfortably intimate about having a strange woman see his rumpled sheets. He felt almost as though he were standing before her in his underwear, never mind that he'd just seen hers.

“You dropped this earlier.” She tossed something through the air to him. His wallet, of all the stupid things to lose. He frowned, turning it over in his hands, and she watched him struggle with himself. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and let it out through his nose. Damn it, now he had to be nice.

“Thank ye.” He said, with a curt nod of the head, and she couldn't help the giggle that escaped her throat.

“That hard, is it?”

“Aye, well, I was raised tae be polite, and despite the fact that ye're a filthy, bloodsucking whore of the devil, ye've done me a kindness and I've thanked ye for it. Now leave.” He pointed at the window, willing her to just go and leave him be. “Before I make good on my promise tae kill ye.”

“What's a whore, Daddy Anderson?” Both of them whirled around, startled, to see two little pyjama clad girls standing in the doorway. Shit, how much had they heard?

“Rosa!” Anderson sputtered, eyes wide. “Ye should'na be eavesdropping!” He admonished her, “And what're ye two doing out o' bed at this hour?”

“You answer my question first!” Rosa pouted, stubbornly grasping her companion's hand and standing fast.

“It's…err…it's a very beautiful and kind lady.” Seras put in brightly, seeing Anderson casting about for an answer and coming up with a grand bit of nothing. “Hullo Isabelle! How are you?”

Isabelle smiled shyly at her saviour, and said “I'm fine” in the tiniest voice Seras had ever heard.

“Who are you? Why are you here?” Rosa put in, bluntly curious about the pretty stranger in Father Anderson's room. “How do you know Isabelle? Are you going to adopt one of us?”

“Err…no, not exactly…um…sorry.” Seras muttered awkwardly. “I'm Seras Victoria,” she stuck out a hand to each of the girls in turn, “I helped Father Anderson find Isabelle, and I wanted to come by and make sure everything was okay.” Never mind that it was past midnight.

“Oh, she's fine Miss Seras! See!” Rosa tugged the other girl forward, showing her off like a little piece of livestock. “She talks now and everything!”

“Rosa!” Anderson yelped, “Don't ye think that's maybe a wee bit rude?” The girl had the grace to look abashed, as Anderson herded the two out of the room. “I think it's far past yer bed time, is it not?” He asked, and they nodded, sheepishly.

“I'm sorry,” Isabelle said, “But I heard her voice…and…” she trailed off, looking up at the priest with big blue eyes.

“It's okay, Isabelle,” Anderson said, kindly, “ye've seen her and she's alright, aye? I kept our promise. Now you just keep our secret and all's well, aye? Och, look here's Sister Mary Robert,” he motioned to the nun at the end of the hallway. “I've found our wee fugitives,” he said to her, and she clucked her tongue, shepherding the girls down the hall and up the stairs.

“Sister,” Anderson heard Rosa's sleepy voice from above, “I love you and I think you're a whore.” The choked laughter behind him told him that Seras had heard it too, and he quickly shut the door to muffle the outraged squawking of the nun above.

Seras watched, amazedly, as the Mad Paladin doubled over, tears of laughter streaming from his eyes. He's like a normal person, she thought, as she tried to stifle her own giggles, except for the occasional murderous rages...

“You know,” she ventured, once the moment had passed, “I didn't know, till I got here, that you worked in an orphanage. You're very good with the children.”

“Ye think so, do ye?” He didn't want to let her compliment matter, even though it was obvious that he prized the children above all else.

“You know, I'm an orphan too.” Anderson's head whipped around at that, and he narrowed his eyes at her from behind his glasses. Disbelief shone coldly in his gaze. “It's true!” She held up her hands, defensively, put out that he thought she'd lie about something like that. “My father was a police officer, deep undercover. Someone ratted him out and they killed him.”She shrugged, nonchalantly, but Anderson could tell that it bothered her more than she was letting on. “Then they came after my mom and I. They killed her and they shot me here,” her hand rested, briefly, on her belly, fingers fisting in her shirt. She fell quiet for a fraction of a second, just long enough for Anderson to notice the pause, before she continued with a patently false cheer. “They thought I was good as dead, but our neighbour had called the police after hearing gunfire, and someone got to me in time. I was in surgery for sixteen hours, and then they kept me asleep for three days, because they were worried about what would happen when I woke up.” She stopped speaking again, for longer this time, and she seemed to be struggling with something. “I had no relatives, you see…really nowhere to go.”

Anderson watched her pace back and forth in his room, restless and distressed. He wondered if she even realized she was moving around or if it was just her natural reaction to stress. Despite everything, he felt bad for her. He could well imagine what something like that would do to a child. He felt as though he should say something to her, but couldn't think of what it was. Were she a child, he would gather her up in his arms and let her cry on his shoulder, but in the current situation, that was, perhaps, inappropriate.

“I used to have a big scar,” she said suddenly, whirling toward him and planting her feet steady on the floor. She reeled, like she'd thrown herself off balance by stopping so suddenly. The words poured out of her mouth, as though she had no control. “Really ugly…right here, all across my stomach.” She splayed her fingers out over her midriff, as if protecting something inside. “When Alucard…when I was turned, it disappeared. Like it never happened…and I'm worried that…” Anderson frowned, to see red tears welling in her eyes. She blinked them away, fiercely. “I'm worried that when I'm very very old, I'll forget.” She was pacing again, but her arms remained wrapped around herself, protectively. “Alucard says I should stop clinging to my humanity…that I should just let it go…but I don't want to forget. Do you know the reason I was able to become a vampire in the first place?” She demanded, her voice suddenly shrill, unable to cope with this sudden and unexpected emotional outburst.

“Aye, ye must've been a virgin. A state of purity and innocence is required for a true vampire's curse.” Of course, he said it so clinically. Of course, he was a priest.

“Yes…” she said, shakily, “A virgin…because I couldn't have children…that bullet…my…” She paused, desperately willing her lips to stop moving, trying to stop the swell of words bubbling up out of her, trying to regain control of herself. “Well, I knew I'd never be able to have kids, and I didn't ever want to have to have that discussion with someone…and the scar was so ugly…so I just eliminated the possibility.” She finished, lamely, and all the energy seemed drained from her.

“Why're ye telling me all this, lass? This isn't a confessional, and ye're not Catholic.” His words were not exactly unsympathetic, but they were tinged with a hard edge of confusion and suspicion. He wanted to tell her he didn't care about her stupid story, but he knew it would have been a lie.

“Because I don't want to forget…and you're going to live a long time…longer than any other human I know. Maybe forever…so you'll be able to remind me. I don't want to forget.” Seras sniffled, and the first bloody tear slipped from her eye, soon followed by the fellows she'd tried so desperately to keep at bay. She stood there, looking so small and so fragile, that something tugged at his heart and refused to let go. Anderson stood and wrapped the little vampire awkwardly in his arms, cradling her to his chest. He'd been wrong; she was a lost child, just like any of the others in his care. “Don't let me forget.” She mumbled into his chest

“Och, Draculina, ye ken I'll kill ye, before that happens, right?” His voice was gentle and kind, but she heard the hard edge in it that let her know he was serious. She snuffled and nodded, her forehead rubbing against his shirtfront.

“I know,” she whispered. “Thanks.”