A/N:  I own nothing.  Really, I don’t.

Live and Let Die

The door closed behind her with a surreal finality. Hellsing…finished? Centuries of her family’s honor and duty vanished before her like Alucard’s dip into the shadows.          

Alucard. Memories of another lifetime seeped into her brain. A time when she was in charge, when petty mishaps were unheard of. When had things gone wrong? How had she failed? She couldn’t have failed! This was a minor setback—after all, as she told the Royal Knights, her ancestors had weathered much more than this. Her father’s words came to her then, in a sudden flash of rekindled spirit. “Be glorious, Integra.” Be glorious. Her enthusiasm waned just as suddenly as it sparked. More than half her men were dead, or imprisoned for treason. Walter was—she closed her eyes at the thought. Her second father’s demise had hurt her almost more painfully than Sir Hellsing’s. Seras was nowhere to be found, though it was unlikely the London police could keep her. The young vampire brought a small smile to Integra’s lips. Though inexperienced and a little too self righteous for her own good, Seras was brave and very spirited. She’d changed so much since Alucard first gave her her unlife.

Integra bitterly sucked on her cigar. Her armed guard left her cigs but no light. Alucard and his…amusements. She sincerely hoped the cocky bastard enjoyed his fight with Incognito. God forbid legions of the undead cease to invade the country—she wouldn’t want Alucard to be bored.

Drained of energy, Integra sat on the edge of the small bed, graciously provided in her hour of morbid contemplation. Never before had she felt so helpless, so utterly incapacitated. In response to the widespread exhibition of her organization’s existence and the misunderstanding of its mission, Integra would likely be allowed to rot in a cell indefinitely. Perhaps until her corpse sat dismally against the stone walls, head hunkered down in disgust and disdain for those who would persecute her. The image provoked memories of her first meeting with Alucard, when he was a dried up husk chained to her father’s prison. Her protection…

Integra had survived her uncle’s machinations. She’d faced down the most powerful vampire known to man and now had him under her control. Buvanche could not kill her, nor destroy her mind and soul. Nor would this. Integra wanted to live. She had to. It was her duty and right as the leader of the Hellsing Organization. Sir Integra Wingates Hellsing. She was her father’s daughter, and by God, she would not be subjected to this insanity.

“Damned if I’ll remain a prisoner for the ignorant consciences of Her Majesty and the innocent populace!” An even darker anger began to burn in her heart against Iscariot. How Maxwell must be overjoyed to find Hellsing apparently in ruins and its master in irons. Bloody hell, she wouldn’t stand for it. Integra entertained herself with brief thoughts of giving Alucard the go-ahead to eliminate Father Anderson.

Resolve renewed, Integra knew seething about her situation wouldn’t change it. Somehow she had to get out of this primitive cell. At that moment, she felt a slight stirring in the air and detected the faint musky scent that always accompanied her servant. Alucard materialized in front of her, his grin stretching from ear to ear, exposing razor sharp teeth. His jester-red duster and outlandish hat added a splash of color to the otherwise dim room. Integra refused to look away but watched him, silently, curiously. He picked up the glass of wine left for her with dinner, held it up in a toast.

“Integra. My master.” He waited, still grinning. “Your orders?” It felt good to be called master again. To have someone defer to her, recognize her authority. Especially coming from one as powerful as he. She could almost feel him brushing over her mind, like a slight pressure of his fingertips, reading her every thought. His grin grew—impossibly so. In a quick motion, he clinched the wineglass, shattering it. Wine dripped from his gloved hand, pooling at his feet. It looked like blood.

“The choice is yours.” He told her. Now she responded and met his smile with her own. It was her choice. She would not rot in this medieval jail, a heretic and traitor to her beloved country. She would fight—by any means she knew how. As long as she fought, she would survive. Never would she give up or give in to her enemies, even those disguised as Her Majesty, the Queen. Integra had a sacred oath to fulfill, one made centuries before her country, her queen, her own sense of morality ever came to be.

Alucard extended his hand and pulled her into his deadly embrace. Smoothing her hair away from her neck, gently untying the bandage around Buvanche’s disgusting mark, Alucard growled low in his throat. Oh yes, he’d waited for this. Ever since she was a little girl, he’d had more respect for her than any of his masters yet. Her will to survive, her dauntless courage, even her arrogance made her different from any human he’d ever known. And now, Integra would transcend that last bit of human frailty: death. Unlike Seras, Integra would drink his blood and become a no-life king herself, a ruler of the night. For she would never call anyone master.

“What will we do when night comes, my master?” He said, lightly skimming her neck with his fingers. Integra studied him in the fading candlelight. His glasses were off, red eyes sharply focused on hers. His hat too had been discarded. His arms around her were unshakeable, should she wish to be free. She had the fleeting feeling of a fly caught in a spider’s web.

“We rebuild.” At that he laughed and bent his head to her neck.

“Don’t close your eyes for this, Integra.” She didn’t.