A one-shot that crept into my mind after I read the 71th chapter of the manga. Or the 4th chapter of the 9th volume. Or Castlevania 2. Your choice. You won't be reading anything new. Enjoy. I order you to enjoy! (Kidding.)

Disclaimer: The annoyance of this talking that I don't own Hellsing won't stop! Alas!


Come think of it, for over a century, he has never touched anyonyone, but to hurt or kill.

Until that night in the Ceddar village.

He still remembers it. She was just a scared brat who did that stupid thought that there are still knights with shining armors in the world. How pathetic. Still, he was to become her saviour and protector. To protect her from her own family. Well... just a member of it, that is.

He hadn't touched her that day she had set him free of the seal. His arm was the shield between her, Integra Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing and the bullet from her uncle's gun. After that she shot the only member of her family left above his arm.

"Name?" She had asked.

"Your father was calling me by a name. Alucard." He bowed before her. A little thirteen-year-old girl. "Give me an order... My Master."

He never touched her.

Not even after her growth into the very glorious Master of his, one of the most capable and skillful masters he ever had, if not the most brilliant, after Abraham, of course. The rare and exotic dark skin tone of hers was actually screaming to be touched, if not from him, then from someone, anyone. Its owner wasn't going for it, though. Integra Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing, his countess was never fond of close touch. Even though this would change in the close future.(1) What she was doind was her duty. She had given him orders.

Search and destroy.

Thus, his days of erasing everything in his sight, even during times of complete piece, a ghost walking, walking, walking ever forward, from war to war...

Had returned once again.

The same pitiful cycle.

His unnaturally long arms used only for hurting, for killing, for crushing, for devouring. Always with those cursed gloves, making him unable to feel anything with his long fingers. Nothing at all. And why would he? All he was doing was to kill with these fingers. What to feel? Blood? Flesh? Ash?

Until that night in the Ceddar village.

Duh... Yeah... That Police-Girl.

The first thing she had from him was a bullet that pierced her lungs, in order to reach a maggot vampire's heart. The first thing she had from him was death.

The first thing he had from her was... touch.

Duh... Yeah... That Police-Girl.

What was her name again? She didn't deserve having one then. Only the nickname 'Police Girl' he gave her later suited her then. Well, Police Girl had left him to touch her. And not an ordinary touch. To turn her from a human to a vampire.

As she was lying on the soil, scared and sorrowful, she stretched her hand out for help. When she didn't recieve any, she let it fall down, only to be He held her hand gently. And thus, the very first touch he accomplished within a century. Truly, he had forgotten how warm the body of the living was. When he wasn't piercing it with these long arms.

The next one was the feeling of her warm neck on his lips, on his teeth, on his gums in his throat, within his body. Young, female, virgin blood given willingfully.

And then he held her in his arms, twirled in a blanket. Another touch.

How intoxicating.

The next time he wasn't touching her. She was.

It was when his beloved Nemesis first appeared. Paladin Alexander Anderson.

He didn't know it then, he thought he was just another fanatic priest, just another dog, not a man as he wanted as he meant it. He was wrong. And it wasn't those regeneration abilities that were making him such a man, so much like that ancient man...

His Nemesis had cut off his head in a failing attempt to kill him. She had taken his head. Why and what to do with it, he bet that not even she knew. Yet, even with his head away from his shoulders, he could still feel her embrace, her arms, her bosom...

She started speaking to his head, like it could hear her. Saying that bringing her into this world and then leaving her like this, was something she just couldn't take. Truth to be told, he could still hear her.

It almost sounded like he was her mother...

His head was violently forced away from her from a bayonet thrown by the priest, leaving just a faint hint of the feeling of being embraced. Even with having his head chopped off.

Time passed and he continued his journey into the cursed night, killing, killing, killing until nothing has left. In that warm country in south America, he used his destructive arms to the most. He was too used to this and he had grasped her by her collar, shaking her, screaming at her, angry to her unability to understand the way of war.

'They were humans', she had said.


He had calmed down. He had even let hints of bitterness -if possible!- to be shown in his tone.

"But... that is..." She started.

He looked down. Regret. Mow many time had passed since the last time he had felt it? But, what for, he couldn't tell. Because he had killed innocent humans? He was a monster, yes, but a monster with consience, as it was proven in the past. That might be it.

"No. That's it. That's exactly it." Regret.

Or, maybe because he had grasped her and used his hand to hurt her, in a slight way, but still in a way.

Just maybe.

The next time had come rightfully far later.

He was touching her.

It was during the war back in London this time. He had taken his original form, the one he had as Vlad Tepes Dracula. She had appeared right behind his countess, uniform vermillion instead of yellow, left arm missing a Real Vampire, but still his childish child. And he did something he had never done to anyone else. Not to a fledgling, at least.

He patted her head with pride and called her by her name, smiling. Her real name, not the nickname 'Police Girl' he had given her. Now she deserved her name. Then she didn't.

"Seras. Seras Victoria."

And she smiled back, proud.

In the end, this war had given him more than a century whould, or maybe had.

He had touched her again

He was cut in half, then, by Judas Priest. Not from his beloved Nemesis, nor Paladin Alexander Anderson. That man had given his place to a monster, by piercing his heart with 'The Nail'. Fool to believe that a monster could kill another monster! Only humans could kill monsters, like knights could kill dragons.

He was shocked. No, he was dumbfounded. His eyes were wide with blood tears from a flashback. Or, because he had heard her coming.

And, yes, she had come again. Funny that she seemed to butt in each and every time he was at the edge of his fight!

She held the bayonet Judas Priest had used to cut him, in order to stop its way in his body. She was screaming his 'title' that he held to her again and again, afraid that he might be unconsious.

Still so childish. Actually, so childish that he couldn't help himself and call her...

"Why so loud, Police Girl?"

She was relieved to see him awake.

He held her hand that was holding the bayonet, helping her with the task she had chosen to take upon her. It was an odd, if nothing else, picture: Hand in hand, retrieving the threat of Judas Priest. Another touch.

Judas Priest. Not his Nemesis anymore. Yet, he granded him by calling him by his name just one last time.

Right before he used his hand to kill once again.

But, not after all those times, he managed to use his hands for something else than just to kill and hurt.

This war had given him as many touches as the whole prior century never had.

Not long now.

He cries before everyone, not ashamed. He clutches his head, touching his own pitiful self.

As his prior friend, now enemy appears, he uses his hands again for killing.

Maybe he could use them for touching her one last time before he dives into eternal oblivion. The only thing he has left.

Just maybe.

And all started in that night in Cheddar Village.


(1) I'm reffering to the scene where Integra hugged Seras to calm her down, during the Valentine Brothers attack.

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Greece out!