I do not own Hellsing or any of the characters in that universe. That honor belong to Kouta Hirano
Somehow Arthur had managed to keep the funeral a private occasion, despite both he and his late wife's status in British society. Part of the reason was due to the fact that they were a covert section of the convention of twelve and they had often evaded the limelight whenever possible. Hellsing did not flaunt its deeds or purpose and those who worked for it often lied saying they worked for something or somewhere else. It was almost like it didn't exist at all. The only real proof was Sir Hellsing himself.
So instead of having several hundred associates trying to get into Arthur's good graces, the now single director had a decent and manageable amount of real friends who were more interested in Arthur's wellbeing than the wellbeing of the important branch of private military that he led. After all, who would want influence over something when they didn't even know what it did?
The only real work related associates who came to the funeral were the round table knights and they came because they had actually liked Rosy, or at least the façade she put on for them. Arthur liked to believe that his wife was looking down and snickering at how well she had them played. Regardless of how well they thought they knew her though, it was at least somewhat nice to know that they cared. In a rare show of respect, the other knights had even refrained from bothering him about his budget and expenses. It both caused relief and then panic when he remembered that he couldn't rely on the now departed woman to help him secure those resources anymore.
The service itself was small, which was just what Rosy would have wanted. It was held in a small (protestant of course) church on the outskirts of London. His wife had always preferred the privacy and warm congregation there to the large one that Arthur had grown up going to. The building had enough room to fit the grieving party but not too much more. Friends had given eulogies, as Rosy's family had not come.
They had always been unsupportive and scornful of the woman's rather ambitious choice to follow into what they considered to be a man's job. When she had told them that she was moving to England for a new job at the Hellsing foundation they cared little since it only made her seem like a bigger disappointment to them. Frankly Rosy had figured that if they were this unsupportive of every other aspect of her life then she wouldn't bother to tell them that she had finally found a man like they had wanted her to so desperately. This had made his invitation to her funeral a bit more satisfying to him as he had great pleasure in telling her family that their "failure" had married a knight. Their reaction was priceless and almost made him forget about why he had contacted the bastards in the first place.
So all in all it was rather nice and sincere event. The "after party" to the funeral was held in the ballroom of the Hellsing mansion. Friends swapped fond stories of the departed woman and everyone had at least one Pall Mall cigarette in honor of the deceased brunette, even those that preferred cigars. It seemed like every few minutes someone found a new reason to toast to the life of Rosy Hellsing, which Arthur had surmised to be an excuse to simply get drunk. He didn't say anything of course, since he wasn't exactly going light on the alcohol himself. The old girl herself used to enjoy a good drink as much as anybody in the room anyway.
The gathering did not last long though since most of the guests had rather demanding government jobs; England would not stop for the death of one woman. No matter how extraordinary. Most of said guests did not have to worry about driving while intoxicated since they had their own drivers to escort them off the estate. Those that didn't had been driven home by one of Hellsing's personnel. It was a secret organization after all; it did not need to have attention called to it by some drunk driving accident.
The house was now back to its usual emptiness with the exception of Walter and staff cleaning up the small messes the guests had made. The staff didn't bother him and he returned the courtesy. All household help would report to Walter if there were a problem that they believed Arthur would need to know about. As of right now there was no such issue so the blond director was left alone in his office with only paperwork and cigar smoke for company.
Normally this would be the ideal work environment. There was nothing to distract him and he could focus without fear of interruption. Tonight however, it just gave his mind the opportunity to wander towards depressing thoughts. He could not focus and the paperwork was not nearly the kind of distraction he needed. Still, he tried for at least an hour or so more to get something done, but it wasn't long until he realized the pointlessness of trying to do anything in this condition so he retired for the night.
The sun had long since gone down and the moon was near the center of the sky. Despite this Arthur could not sleep. He wore his most comfortable, silk, nightshirt and pants. He lay on his eight- hundred thread-count sheets that rested on top of a rather expensive mattress. However, none of it helped him get to sleep.
All he could do was remember when Rosy had given him said nightclothes for Christmas last year, when he and his wife were lectured by Walter for not understanding how thread-count worked, and when his love had convinced him to jump on the bed with her after they first got it. He treasured both those innocent memories and the not so innocent ones that were connected to the piece of furniture. That didn't mean they didn't haunt him though.
Maybe if he replaced the bed and-
No, He had promised his wife that he would not forget her and he would stick by his word. Getting rid of the bed might seem to lessen the pain now, but if he got rid of one item that reminded him of her then what would stop him from doing the same to everything that did so? It could start with the bed then move onto the couch that they had often, ahem, enjoyed each other's company on. He could imagine all the pictures and mementos going into storage where they would never be seen again, along with everything else that proved she had ever existed or made a mark on his life.
No one would stop him. Walter might not approve, but he was a professional if nothing else and he would not object to anything his master asked for if it truly came down to it. The only one to stop Arthur would be himself.
No, the blond decided. He would not ignore his Rosie's memory like a coward. It might hurt now to remember the vivacious woman, but they say time heals everything right?
Besides, he thought to himself, he had no right to deny little Integra knowledge about the woman who gave her life.
Realizing that sleep would not come to him anytime soon, Arthur lifted himself out of bed and swung his feet onto the cold hardwood floor. He walked over to the sitting area located by the window in the corner of the rather large bedroom and pulled his brown robe off of one of the dark leather upholstered chairs. Without further ado he left the room and into the network of hallways that the mansion seemed to have in abundance.
He didn't travel very far. In fact he really only went to a closed door across the hall. He gingerly opened the door as to avoid making any noise and cautiously stepped through. On the other side of the door was the nursery.
The walls were painted a light blue and a lush green carpet was added to make the floor softer for the unavoidable tumbles the child would eventually go through when she started to master her motor skills. The furniture itself was made up of a light ash wood that lent itself to the overall light feeling that the room gave off. He could fondly remember Rosy saying 'just because we hunt vampires doesn't mean our child has to grow up in a military barrack dear' and she had made sure that there would be little to no evidence of their grim job occupation here.
There was nothing scary about the translucent white curtains. Nothing was grim about the toy box and the colorful objects inside. The only thing remotely related to what he did for a living was a cartoon mural of king Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. These knights however, wore chain mail and plate rather than the tailored suits that the modern knights today were much more frequently found in. The artist they commissioned had no idea that the round table still ran today and besides, a modern day round table meeting was really no where near as epic as the tales of old anyway. Integra would definitely prefer growing up with these knights over the stuffy blue bloods he dealt with on a day-to-day basis.
Speaking of Integra…
The father was now staring into the crib, which held his newly acquired treasure. The little girl that his beloved wife had gave her life to bring into this world, the bundle of joy that was now his last true connection to his wife. She may never remember the woman that brought her life, but Arthur had seen Integra's eyes and he knew that they could be from no one else but Rosy. Abraham was said to have blue eyes as well, but Arthur knew those were not Van Helsing's eyes that gazed up at him. He could recognize that stare anywhere and that alone assured him that he wouldn't forget Rosy as long as Integra lived. It depressed him for a moment, but that didn't last too long when he recalled the Round table's reaction to those same eyes on numerous occasions. Arthur could not help but smirk a little.
Integra also seemed to have inherited her mother's tanned skin. It wasn't too dark, but damn it all if he could remember where Rosy had said she got it from. He remembered her saying something about some silly Native American tribe with some equally ridiculous name. Either way his little girl would certainly stand out in the rather pale crowds of London town. The platinum hair that she had inherited from him seemed to exaggerate the feature even more. There wasn't much of the stuff now, but when it came in he could imagine the striking contrast she would present. Frankly he couldn't wait.
He couldn't wait to see what was to become of the product that he and his beloved had brought into this world. His inner knight could not wait to behold who would succeed him, as director of Hellsing, couldn't wait to see his heir become a sharpened weapon of God and her Majesty. He was practically giddy with excitement over the fact that he could finally retire in the foreseeable future!
The newly budding inner father however was not as impatient to see her grow up so fast. Arthur would cherish hearing his little girl learn how to form words and talk. He would treasure teaching her to walk and run. He would enjoy every moment of instructing his Integra how to ride a bicycle. Arthur would look on in pride as he watched Integra leave for her first day of school. He wasn't exactly looking forward to her teenage years, as that was when he remembered most of the girls during his childhood tended to more than a little irrationally, but he'd manage. Or get someone who could. He'd have to give her the talk too, wouldn't he…?
Well raising a child couldn't be all fun and games he guessed.
Arthur looked down into the crib and saw that Integra had woken up. She was gurgling, but not crying so that was a good sign. He reached his hand down and placed his fingers in front of the little Integra to play with.
The little baby reached up and squeezed one of the fingers. He felt an explosion of pain radiate from the digit and barely refrained from howling.
Okay, so letting Integra play with the fingers Rosy had broken a couple days ago might not have been his best idea…
Well that was a sad chapter. Again. Thank god this little arc is over. This will be the last of Rosie's death arc. Next chapter we go further into Integra's childhood.
She doesn't seem to show any signs of Supergirl yet but that will come later don't you worry!
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