AUTHOR'S NOTE: there were enough votes in Seth's favor that I decided to keep him.

There have been some questions in regards to whether there will be another sequel, and the answer, sadly, is no. These two stories have been a big success and I am very grateful for that. However, I am currently running on a dry spell and not writing very much. In other words, I'm taking a hiatus from FFN. No new fan fictions for a while. (I'm sorry, don't pelt me with rocks please) That does not mean there won't be stories in the future. In fact, I have several ideas in the works, just no energy to write them down right now. I love all you people who have followed my stories, but please don't harass me for new stuff. I'll get back to it when I can.

This epilogue turned out WAY long. Enjoy it and review please!

EPILOGUE

It was a busy Saturday night on Broadway.

Patrons from all over the world flocked to the theatrical capital of the world, excitement on their faces. The streets were flooded with cars and well-dressed men and women. The air smelled of luxury and expensive cigars.

The usher of the Ambassador Theatre rolled his eyes. It was just another day of work for him.

The Ambassador Theatre was unusually crowded tonight with the opening of its brand new show. Though not really a theater buff himself, the usher, whose friends called him Mickey regardless of his protests, found himself a bit anxious about this show. It was a show different from the rest, with a dark theme and a new director, based on a hard-to-forget classic.

Dracula was sold out for the next month.

Mickey straightened his uniform and escorted the theater-goers to their seats, handing them pamphlets as they went. The process was long and tedious, and he was just beginning to reach the end of the line when one of his buddies tapped him on the shoulder.

"Hey man," said his friend. "You're in luck tonight."

Mickey closed the theater's doors as the last of the patrons entered. "I am?"

"Yep." His friend thrust a tray holding a bottle of champagne and two crystal goblets into his hand before he could refuse. "You're tending a private box tonight. Have fun!"

Then he was gone. Mickey looked at the tray in his hand and sighed. Tending private boxes was the worst job in the place. Sure, it sounds glamorous, pouring drinks for the high-class gentlemen and ladies while producing witty banter with a charming smile, but in reality it was difficult and just plain annoying. The rich had a habit of been pretentious, and along with that pretentiousness is the tendency to look down upon and under-tip the ushers. Usually those who rent private boxes were not the classy intellectual types from movies, but over-fed businessmen wish painted porcelain dolls (who usually wore way too much perfume) on their arms.

Mickey sighed and headed upstairs. A card on the tray read "Box 4, Mr. & Mrs. Van Haunsen". Box 4 was the best box in the house, he hoped at least those who would soon occupy it at least looked the part.

When he arrived at Box 4, the patrons had not yet arrived. He put the tray down and, noting there was not an ice bucket, went to retrieve one from the kitchen. When he returned, however, two figures had made their way to the Box. When they turned his way, he nearly dropped the ice bucket in his hands.

Before him was the most stunning couple he had ever laid eyes on, and after three years in a Broadway theater, he'd seen some stunning couples. But they were different, he could tell immediately.

The man was very tall, easily over six feet, and dressed from head to toe in midnight black, complete with an old-fashioned cloak that gave him an authoritative and mysterious air, not too unlike the Phantom of the Opera. His hair, unlike the oily do's of common rich nobles, was as black was his getup, and looked natural and wind-blown. Under his dark locks, Mickey could tell he was very handsome, if a bit pale, with sharp, distinct European features.

The woman was every bit as amazing as her husband. Though nearly a full foot shorter, she was in no way overshadowed by his presence. She wore a white low-cut silk gown that fell over her form like spilt milk. Her skin was absolutely flawless, as was her long, long blond hair that fell all the way to her curvaceous hips. Her eyes were a piercing blue. Spotting Mickey down the hall, she lifted a hand and laid long, graceful fingers on her husband's arm.

"I believe that would be our usher," she said. There was something about her voice. Her accent was undoubtedly British, but something about her tone reminded Mickey of his uncle, who was a general in the U.S. Army in his better years.

Shuffling his feet, Mickey made his way to the Box and lifted the curtain for the couple to enter. The man nodded at him as he passed, but the woman favored him with a smile that made his knees week. Her beauty was enchanting.

The man helped his wife to her seat as Mickey poured champagne for the both of them, all the while watching their mannerisms out of the corner of his eyes. Everything about them was incredible. They walked as if on air, and spoke with a dignity and sophistication so rarely seen in today's society. At one point the man, Mr. Van Haunsen, asked his wife if she was cold, and had Mickey not seen his face first he would've thought it was the voice of a man in his seventies, aged by experience and intellect. But that couldn't be. Neither of them looked a day over thirty.

He set the champagne between them as the lights dimmed. The show was about to start.

"I will be right outside, Mr. and Mrs. Van Haunsen," he said, and bowed slightly. "Please let me know if you need anything."

"That will be all," said Mr. Van Haunsen. Mickey turned to leave, but the man stopped him. He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a green bill. "I'm a little short tonight. Hope this is enough."

Disappointment tugged at Mickey a bit when he saw the number 5 on the surface of the paper. Small tippers, but that was natural. He nodded, smiled, and took the money.

It was not until the show was half way through, as he stood fidgeting with boredom in the hall did he pull out the money for a closer look, and felt his eyes widen at the two zeroes after the 5.

His fingers shook. Could it have been a mistake? Had Mr. Van Haunsen meant to tip him five dollars and pulled out a five-hundred dollar bill by mistake? His first instinct was to go inside and ask, then decided to wait until after the show, but then…

No.

Something about the couple told him that they knew exactly how much has been tipped. That's what was different about them. They had that air. That power of always knowing exactly what they were doing, exactly where they were going. That power that most people lack and don't even know they lack.

Mickey leaned over and peered at the amazing couple inside the box. The man was caressed his wife's hand lovingly and he could hear bits and pieces of their conversation.

"Why you insisted on seeing this show is beyond me," he heard Mr. Van Haunsen say. "It's ridiculous. I never wore such flamboyant costumes."

"Of course not, love," said Mrs. Van Haunsen. "It would've scared away the prey."

"And the inaccuracies. I only had one bride, and if she looked anything like the ones up there, I wouldn't have left for England to begin with."

"As long as we're pointing out inaccuracies..." The woman stroke his arm teasingly. "We might as well begin with the most obvious. You can't carry a tune worth a pint."

oOo

The young soldier who barged into the office was barely out of his teens. He stumbled in his hurry and quickly straightened before the director's desk. "It's an emergency, Sir!"

Sir Anessa Elizabeth Cneajna Hellsing lifted her head and gazed at him evenly. Out of the corner of her mouth she smirked just a little at the surprise on the soldier's face. It was excusable, of course. She was used to it. After all, most of these trainees have yet to meet the director herself face-to-face. He was surprised that she was younger than him, she knew.

Still, she wasn't as young as she used to be, when her mother departed from the human world. She was older now, not only in age but the three years of experience as director had contributed greatly to her coming of age. Rolling her eyes at the soldier's flustered mannerism, Anessa lifted her boots off the desk and stood.

Today she was eighteen years old, but in this household a birthday was merely another workday. She was tall, even a bit taller than her mother was, with a waterfall of jet-black hair. Her sapphire eyes were deep and mature, as if she'd lived a hundred years in the body of a teenager. Under her figure-hugging silk blouse and black slacks, were a pair of extremely out-of-place army boots. Somehow, over the years, even after she abandoned her Lolita getup, they'd become hard to part with.

"What's the problem?" she asked. The soldier, who was still in the process of getting over his initial shock, quickly composed himself.

"The disturbance reported earlier this evening, S… uh, ma'am, I mean…"

" 'Sir' is fine," Anessa said bitingly. Like her mother, she had been knighted at seventeen. "Now speak up."

"Yes, sir!" said the soldier, sounding a bit more calm. "The problem seems to be more complicated than a simple disturbance."

"How so?"

"The vampires have taken hostage of a family. They demand negotiations of some sort."

Anessa crossed her arms in frustration. The Medians have become a bit smarter as their numbers dwindled in the area. Instead of out-right attacks they have organized and repeated attempted to obtain power of some sort, which usually ended in bloodshed. No amount of politics could change the fact that they were mongrels.

"We don't negotiate," she said coldly.

"But sir…"

"You make the mistake of thinking about them like humans," said the Hellsing director. "That is the common error made by new recruits. Vampires are now humans. They are monsters. They do not take pity on you even if you do them. If we negotiate, they will only kill the hostages after they get what they want, which is to gather their brethrens so they can kill even more humans. Inform Commander Victoria that the orders remain the same." She gritted her teeth. "Search and destroy. Save the hostages the best you can, but take heed that they may already have been bitten."

The soldier hesitated.

"What are you waiting for?"

"The hostages, sir…"

"Spit it out."

"They're an elite family."

"Their social status is not of my concern."

"I was told that the family head is a convention member. By the name of Conningwell."

It was like being struck by lightning. Anessa felt the world spin for a moment. She steadied herself with a hand on her desk.

Three years. It's been three years…

In two quick steps she dashed past the soldier, who hurried behind her. "Contact Commander Victoria," she said. A million thoughts crowded her mind, most of which she had just succeeded to push out of her head not too long ago. "Tell her to hold back. I'm coming to deal with this personally."

The look of shock returned to the soldier's face. Anessa wanted to slap him upside the head. Didn't they tell these recruits anything these days?

"Go!"

The soldier scampered off. Anessa turned on her heels and headed to her room. Once there, she went straight to the closet and pulled out the first thing she laid her hand on – a long black trench coat that would have made her father proud. It served purposes aside form its dashing style, of course. Inside its lining were five small compartments, each specially fitted for a variety of blades, handguns, and magazines.

"The director is heading out personally?"

She shrugged into the coat, allowing a small smile to the figure at her door. Walter adjusted his glasses, holding onto his walking cane with his other hand. He was getting up there in years now, although some may argue that he had been over that hill many times and more. His hair was almost entirely gray, and his hips were bothering him quite a bit on rainy says. Still, that old soldier's cunning was still in his eyes, so was the wise if slightly condescending tone he used to address anyone younger than himself.

"Must we go through this every time, Walter?" she asked teasingly. "You should know by now that you can't stop me."

The old butler huffed. "You assume I'm still young enough to try. You Hellsings always do exactly what you want. I could never stop your mother from rushing into the field either. Especially when she was your age."

"You needn't worry." Anessa pulled her long hair out of her collar. "I'm not like my mother."

"But remember that you are not your father either. Part of you is still mortal."

"A fact you never get sick of reminding me about."

Walter shook his head. "Just be careful."

"Aren't I always?" She grinned. Her pale fangs glistened.

"Don't you flash those things at me, young lady." Walter turned aside with some difficulty as she walked past him. "But don't hurry off just yet. There's something I wanted to give you first. It's a birthday present."

She hesitated. "Can it wait?"

"If it were up to me, perhaps. But it's from your parents, and they, especially your father, had insisted that you receive it on your 18th birthday."

oOo

Mickey stepped aside as "Mr. and Mrs. Van Haunsen" exited their booth. He held the curtain back for them as they emerged, and bowed repeatedly.

"Th-thank you, sir!" he stammered. Mr. Van Haunsen eyed him with confusion as Mrs. Van Haunsen smiled.

"You do tend to leave an impression on people, don't you dear?" she asked her husband.

"You speak of it as if it's a bad thing."

"Only when we're supposed to stay inconspicuous, but I suppose that was never your strong suit."

"I believe the words were 'search and destroy', not 'stay out of sight'."

Their words made little sense to Mickey, but he was too preoccupied to over-think the matter. The gorgeous couple bid him goodnight, a thing not often done by the high-class patrons of the theater, and headed out into the night.

Powdery snow was beginning to fall from the starry skies. The moon was a pale silver, casting its chilly glare upon the bustling city. The couple walked arm-in-arm away from the sleepy crowd.

"I wonder if Anessa received her gift?"

oOo

The Conningwell estate was just how she remembered it, though it'd been a few years since she set foot on it. Though she saw Robert Conningwell as frequently as every gathering of the Convention, Anessa felt a twinge of discomfort as the last memory of Seth resurfaced.

Since that night, after her mother had called a car to send the boy home, she never saw him again. Never again did he call, or drop by, or write. There were no more Friday nights of popcorn and monster movies, or Sunday afternoon chats in the garden. He was not there at her mother's funeral, nor at her succession ceremony. There was a small gathering held in her honor on her sixteenth birthday. She put up a smile all the way through. He did not show up, or even send a card. When it was over, she locked herself in her room and cried into her pillow.

There were other boys a little later on, though their pursuit dwindled somewhat after she took over the directorship. They were intimidated by her position, her power, and her shrew intellect. There were more and more comments regarding how much she was like her mother, who was infamous for her ruthlessness in her early twenties. She wasn't sure if it bothered her or not.

She dated a few boys for appearance, and sometimes because she just had to get out of the house. But eventually even that desire faded. Her parents had left her a job, and that became her concentration.

She began to venture out into the field.

She was a remarkable marksman, and an even better tactician. Under the protest of her sister Seras and Walter, she pushed her way into the battle zone and made a name for herself in the Median underground. The vampires who knew better cowered at the mention of Hellsing, and the ones who didn't lost their head before they could learn.

The Queen died last year. Anessa spoke at her funeral. The new king was book-smart and street-dumb. When it came to dealing with the unknown, he deferred to her. Instead of only keeping an eye on the Median activity, Hellsing began to expand its control to all things occult and supernatural within the region..

But all of that couldn't fill the hole in her half-vampiric heart.

"Sir!"

Anessa shook her head. Reality snapped into focus. The moon was full and the night was cold. The scent of blood was in the air, thick and appetizing.

One of the soldiers stood before her and saluted. She acknowledged him with a nod. "What's the situation?"

"We've secured the area," the soldier replied. "By our estimate there are anywhere from one to two dozen vampires inside, and they claim that they have the house's occupants hostage."

"Do they?" Asked Anessa, casting a thoughtful glance at the mansion's dark windows. "Tell everyone to hold their positions."

The soldier saluted again and disappeared into the night. Anessa made her way to the mansion's front yard. Some of the troops, mostly the new recruits, looked up from their crouched positions long enough to regard her in surprise. She ignored them and went straight to the one who mattered.

Seras didn't turn around when she approached, but Anessa knew her sister well enough to know that she sensed her presence long ago.

"I was hoping you wouldn't come."

She chuckled. "I wouldn't miss the fun for the world."

"You sound just like master."

Anessa tightened the grip on the weapon in her hand. "I'm more like him than you think, sis."

Seras turned to her, but before she could say anything, her eyes fell on the weapon and she gasped.

"Oh my goodness…"

Smirking, Anessa raised the Jackal for her to see. It was quite old now, older than she was, but the glory of its days did not fade in the least. Its black sheen had dulled a bit over the years, and there was a scratch along its side, across the words "Jesus Christ", probably the result of one of her father's "work days". But its power was unhindered, and she had loaded it with six 13mm armor piercing rounds.

"I thought he took it with him," Seras said breathlessly. "I never thought master would part with that gun. It was always his favorite."

"I thought so, too," replied Anessa, caressed the weapon in a way that mirrored her father almost too much for comfort in Seras's eyes. "But seems he left it behind and instructed Walter to give it to me as an 18th birthday present."

"And you're going to use it? Tonight?"

She grinned, exposing her fangs. "If I'm lucky." She lowered the gun to her side. "Where's Father Alex?"

"Inside. He's the only one."

"What's he doing?"

Seras looked at the house with a sigh. "I'm not sure. I think they threatened him with the hostages' lives."

"Sounds like a challenge to me." Without a book back, Anessa stepped past her sister and headed for the house. There were a few nervous gasps from the soldiers.

"Anessa, wait…!"

She turned around long enough to wink. "Don't worry," she said. "I'm my father's daughter."

Seras said something else, but she was too far away to hear. The mansion was deadly silent, almost as if it was wrapped in an invisible soundproof shroud. Or perhaps it was because the soldiers were holding their breath as she approached it. Anessa pushed open the front door and stepped inside.

The house was in complete disarray. The furniture was upturned, rug shredded to pieces, lamps broken and their pieces spread all over. There was a portrait hanging over the fireplace, which had gone cold long ago. She couldn't make out the person in the picture, as the canvas had been torn in half a dozen places.

And there was blood, so much blood that even she felt a bit uneasy. The walls were painted red and crimson, and the occasional vulgarity.

She wrinkled her nose. There was something… familiar in the air.

Apprehension crept onto her as she quickened her step down the front all. Appearing before her was a winding stairwell, and it was below this that Father Alex stood with his head raised. His blades laid in a rough circle at his feet, most likely at the demand of the vampires perched on the balcony above.

There were at least ten of them, and they were agitated. She could tell by their scent. Some of them were excited, and others were just plain nervous. They had just fed, probably from the mansion's staff. She wondered how many "hostages" there actually were.

"Look at that," hissed one of them as she drew near. "They've sent us another one."

Father Alex turned around. His hair had gone a bit paler over the last few years, but aside from that, he looked exactly the same as her earliest memory of him. Just like her father, age seemed to elude him.

"Annie!" he exclaimed. "What do you think you're doing here?"

"Now, now, Father Alex," Anessa said, sniffed the air as she did. "Let's not use that nickname in front of the prey."

The priest grumbled under his breath. Like Walter and Seras, he was generally opposed to her being in the way of danger.

The familiar scent in the air was thickening as she got closer to the stair. The head vampire looked down at her with its red eyes and bared its fangs. Scoffing, Anessa bared her own. The vampire started, but not as much as she expected.

"So it's true," it said. "Hellsing does have vampires of its own."

"Hellsing has more weapons than you realize," replied Anessa, but the scent was making it hard to concentrate on the vampire. She took another step forward. That smell…

"Then you ought to be helping us," said the vampire. A stir in the shadows behind him caught her attention. "Let us go. Help us gain power and overtake the humans."

Father Alex was watching her. She knew he had noticed her agitation but was saying nothing. Suddenly the head vampire was the least of her concerns.

"This is getting old," she said loudly. "If you think I don't hear the same line from every vampire I've come across you'd be sadly mistaken."

"But if we were to combine forces…"

"Shut up!" she snapped. The other vampires hissed. Heat rose inside her. Something was very wrong and she had to figure out what it was. "We are Hellsing and we do not negotiate with mongrels."

"Well then," said the head vampire with a sneer. "We'll have to do this the hard way."

He dove off the balcony and dropped straight toward her, mouth gaping and aiming straight for her neck. She raised the Jackal and blew his head off. The sound was deafening, but the gun handled like a part of her own body.

The other vampires attacked. Father Alex picked up his blades and took out three with a single strike. The soldier outside was wrong. There were more than two dozen in the mansion.

"Kill them all," she ordered, and headed for the stairs, taking out any vampire that got in her way.

"But this won't do," called Father Alex after her as the vampires swarmed around him. "They'll kill the hostages!"

"They're already dead," replied Anessa. She began to ascend the stairs, ignoring the hissing vampires around her. "They died over an hour ago. The vampires never intended to negotiate."

As if on cue, as she reached the second floor, the shadows that had loomed behind the head vampire made their appearance. They lumbered awkwardly toward her, their broken bodies moving as if held by string.

At their forefront was Robert Conningwell, black holes where his eyes used to be, bloated tongue lolling out of his gray lips. He moaned as ghouls tend to do, as Anessa raised the Jackal to his chest.

"God have mercy on you, Mr. Conningwell," she said, and fired. He fell, along with three others behind him.

Move the troops, Seras. Take them all out.

Two seconds later gunfire filled the mansion, echoing off the walls as the soldiers of Hellsing burst through its doors. The vampires turned from Father Alex and Anessa, attempting to run, but most were immediately gunned down.

Anessa ignored it. Her bullets were gone, and though she had more in her coat, she did not move to reload her gun. Pushing past the stumbling ghouls, she kept moving down the long hall. That scent was still there, and it was getting stronger. In the distance she heard Seras should a command to the troops, followed by more gunfire.

She counted the doors. One, two, three… she had been here before, three years ago when life was a little simpler. She still remembered the place, the room where she hung out with him during her weekend visits.

There was blood on the handle.

Heart pounding, she gripped it and pushed it open.

The room was dark. For a moment she thought she was mistaken, but then she heard it. The sound of shallow breathing coming from the corner of the room. Her eyes quickly adjusted, and she saw the blood on the floor, on the bed, on the walls and bookshelves, and the body spread facedown on the floor.

And there he was, in the corner, the one whose scent she followed here, praying all the while that there would at least be one survivor.

In the three years gone, Seth had grown up, too.

He was a young man now, a little taller than she was, muscular and handsome as young men tend to be, though it was a bit hard to tell at the moment, with cakes of dried blood on his face. Fresh blood was pouring out of him, out of his nose, mouth, and ears, drizzling down his neck and staining his brown hair. His clothes were torn, and there was a huge gash on his right leg. His pants were nearly soaked through with blood.

The body sprawled on the floor wasn't moving. Anessa stepped over it and went to Seth, who was leaning against the wall haplessly like a rag doll. Gripped in his left hand was a decorative dagger. She knew it well. It used to be propped up on his bookshelf.

Perhaps hearing her footsteps, he turned to her slowly, although she wasn't sure he could see her. Then he smiled, or at least tried.

"Hi, Annie," he rasped, and she wanted to cried and laugh at the same time. Instead, she stood there before him, unsure of what to do next. Slowly, he moved his left hand, but the effort only brought him pain and he let out a sharp groan. The dagger fell from his hand.

She rushed to his side and knelt down, brushed the strands of hair out of his face. He looked into her eyes and she saw that there was laughter and regret in them.

"I went for the heart," he whispered with effort. "Just like you did. That time." There was a pause, followed by several strained breaths. "I'm sorry."

She gripped his hand tightly. He moved, perhaps to be a bit closer to her, but had no strength to hold himself upright. He fell. She caught him and laid him down gently. He struggled to keep his eyes open. The sight of his battered face squeezed at her heart like invisible tentacles.

"Seth?" she said softly, stroking his face. "Can you hear me?"

He nodded just a bit.

"The choice is yours, Seth."

oOo

The cafés outside the Rockefeller center was deserted. The last of the skaters were beginning to yawn and drift toward home. No one paused to wonder if the couple sitting on the snow-covered bench had a place to go.

Alucard pulled Integra close and bathed himself in the scent of her hair. She laid her head on his shoulder.

"Are you cold, master?"

She rubbed her hands together. "Just a little," she replied. He removed his coat and draped it over her shoulders. "You're doing it again."

"Force of habit, I suppose," he said with a shrug. "After all, I did call you that for three decades."

"Well, it's time to stop," said Integra. The snow reflected the moonlight, glowing in all its purity. The square was quiet in the winter night. "I'm your wife now."

"I know." He kissed her forehead. "Are the contacts still bothering you?"

"Less so now. How long before I can change the color of my eyes without them?"

Alucard squeezed her shoulder. "Give it a decade."

"Such a long time."

"It won't feel long. You do have eternity now."

"True."

They sat in silence for a moment as the snow fell all around them, shrouding them in a wonderland of white.

"What would you like to do now?"

Integra considered for a moment. "We could skate. We have the rink all to ourselves."

Alucard snorted. "Not on your life."

"Why not?"

"What makes you think I can skate?"

"I thought if you had time to pick up six languages and a few thousand souls in your lifetime, you'd have learned to skate at some point."

"Never had the chance." He rose and took her arm. "How about a drink? There are some very nice lounges in this area."

She rolled the thought in her mind. "Actually, I'm hungry for something a bit more… substantial," she said, licking her lips in a way that made Alucard very proud. "Are there perhaps… prey in this area?"

"Of course, my dear," replied Alucard. He slipped his hand around hers and they strolled away from the Rockefeller Center unhurriedly. "It's New York City. If you thought London was infested, this place is ten times worse."

"Is that so? I thought America prided itself in having the best of everything."

"Their government is in denial. They don't even have a department devoted to occult and supernatural research."

"Is anything being done about the vampire population at all?"

"Nothing."

"Pity," said Integra, smirking. "But I suppose that makes finding a midnight snack that much easier."

He pulled her close and kissed her passionately. She returned it. Snow continued to fall around them as the moon rose to its full height, greeting them to the first day of the rest of eternity.

oOo

When she entered the room Seth was already up, a shadowy silhouette by the window. She stood at the door and watched him in silence.

He cleaned up well. Very well, in fact. His hair shun dully in the moonlight like honey, brown locks hanging over his handsome features. His strong arms were crossed over his chest as she looked outside at the moon. He was a man now, just like she was a woman. They were no longer children.

He turned around. She smiled shyly and went to the window, but did not go to him. They stood, two feet apart, a million unspoken words in between.

"I never thought you'd choose… this," she said.

Seth leaned against the cold glass. His red eyes sparked in the moonlight, though not as brightly as hers. "I don't regret it, if that's what you're worried about."

"Really?" she moved a little closer. "I thought you'd never agree to it. I thought…"

"I'm sorry."

She started. "What?"

A sad smile spread across his face as he met her gaze. "I've wanted to say it for the last three years, ever since… that night. But I couldn't. There was never a right time. And I felt so embarrassed after what happened. I was so young and stupid, and you…" a faint flush came to his cheeks, not so different from when they were twelve. "You were so amazing. I just didn't realize it then."

She blushed. "So after that night," she said slowly, "you didn't hate me?"

He shook his head. "I was afraid you hated me," he replied. "And I didn't tell anyone what happened. I hope that was the right thing to do."

She nodded. "It was. I was worried."

"I came to a decision as time went by," Seth continued. "I realized how detached I was from my parents as the years went on. When I was younger I was so wrapped up in their lifestyle, their elitism and social life. I couldn't distinguish integrity from pretense. But after you, I found that I couldn't just accept things at face value, like they did. So I left."

"You left?"

"I went out to see the world. I traveled and studied for the past two years, trying to come to terms with what had happened with you and I, and what to do about myself."

"Did you figure it out?"

"Not quite yet. But I knew that things had to change, that I couldn't just follow my father's footsteps. I came back here two days ago, intending to spend some times with him, tell him that fact, and then… this happened. I guess it's fate."

He walked to her and took her hand in both of his. His skin was cool and soothing.

"Why did you agree to become a vampire?" she asked him, trying hard to keep her voice steady.

"Because I'm not ready to die. There's so much I want to learn, and so much I want to make up for." He squeezed her hand. "Is that O.K.?"

She nodded. "Yes. Yes, it is." Pulling out of his grasp, she took his face in both of her hands, and pulled his head downward gently. He closed his eyes as she kissed him on the forehead. "Welcome to Hellsing."