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Walter had given up smoking years ago. It wasn’t appropriate for a butler running such a large, not to mention volatile, household to sneak off for cigarette breaks.
He’d turned his back on a gala once, back when Arthur still arranged such things. He’d gone outside no more than five minutes, only to return to a small kitchen fire. Over his many years if he’d learned one thing it was that without a watchful eye, some catastrophe would always find a way to rear its head. But there were some days, this entire week rather, that just begged for a cigarette. So he’d allowed himself the concession. Of course, he’d already set the fire himself this time around.
So there he was in the gardens, leaning against the walls of a tool shed. He inhaled the smoke on a long shuddering breath, all the while resenting how much he’d missed it. He’d felt the difference the moment the car had driven up to the grounds, before he’d even gotten out. The miasma clinging to the air, the choking draw that was the vampire’s presence. Of course he felt the change in the air just now too, he simply chose to ignore it, chose to enjoy the sunlight, the summer breeze in the air, and his first cigarette in decades.
“The Angel of Death, it’s been too long.”
Through some stroke of luck, he hadn’t crossed paths with Alucard until then, and whatever benevolent higher power had put off this conversation had also kept him from flinching at the sound of that voice. “I’m afraid the name’s not very applicable anymore,” he said, and somehow his voice was pleasant, relaxed. “I’m not very angelic or deadly at the moment.” He exhaled in a puff of smoke, and he was sure there was something unnatural about how it stayed frozen in the air, before finally dissolving. He realized, the wind had died completely, everything was still.
“I didn’t think I’d see you again, Walter.”
In his periphery, he could make out a red blur, only barely within his field of vision. He didn’t turn to see, however. That would be weakness, that would be playing into Alucard’s games. “You must be bitterly disappointed.”
He looked out on the carefully divided garden plots, the flowers were already beginning to wilt. Given a few more days, they would wither. He hadn’t checked on the vegetables, but if memory served, they’d be hardier at first, but would soon follow suit without intervention. He’d have to notify the groundskeepers to be more attentive now.
Alucard was quiet for long enough that Walter was beginning to wonder if he just might leave. But there was movement then. He followed the trail of red, out of the corner of his eye, the way the vampire crept closer before circling around to face him in full view with the smooth, silent gait of a predator.
And now Walter refused to look away either; avert the eyes, or blink too fast and that’s a sign of weakness too. It was disorienting though, to see that face of his, from twenty years ago, not a day older. He remembered burying his hands in the fabric of that coat in far younger, rasher times. “It’s full daylight. What are you doing here?”
Alucard laughed, though his eyes were unreadable beneath the glasses. “The little miss has me keeping unorthodox hours.”
“How tedious.” Walter stifled a grimace. Of course Integra would feel ingratiated to the vampire that saved her. He wondered for an icy moment whether she had even thought to forbid him from disemboweling the staff.
“Not at all.” And there was that grin again, all tapered teeth. But before Walter even had time to register that, he continued. “I’m content with whatever suits my Master.”
He had been there when Arthur had sealed away the creature, wires ready, in case Alucard was tempted by any notions of noncompliance. It had turned out to be unnecessary anyway. Alucard had allowed himself to be bound without even a struggle, his red eyes overpoweringly bright in the small, dark cell— and impossibly mirthful. Walter had cut a thin line across his cheek anyway, just to see if he’d respond at all. He hadn’t.
Once he had been fully bound (with a sickening crunch of bone as they pulled back his arms), once the wards had been set, and they had been about to leave; with his face still bleeding, Alucard began to laugh.
He laughed and laughed, and laughed.
They shut the cell door on him like that, but they could still hear his voice echoing through it, and though they never spoke of it later, after that, they ran. Because despite Arthurs orders— despite the physical and magical bonds that confined him– they had no way to know if it was enough. Twenty years later, and Walter still couldn’t be certain. For all he knew, Alucard had stayed there for all that time simply because it amused him to let the humans pretend they could ever hold any power over him.
“Do you have a cigarette to spare?”
Walter blinked back to attention, biting down on his own hysterical laughter. “Certainly.” He fished out the package of cigarettes from his waistcoat. Yes, he’d quit smoking years ago, but he still bought a pack every few months, let it grow stale, then bought another one. Some things never leave a person.
He held out the pack and lighter towards him. Watched him take a cigarette with elegant fingers, raise it to his lips, and tilt his head waiting. Walter sighed, feeling entirely too old for whatever this was, and reached out to light it for him.
The proximity threatened to stir up unwelcome memories, it made him recall being very young, and very gullible. Instead he fixed his eyes on the crisscrossing scars around his fingers, where on occasion, the wires had cut through the protection of his gloves. He watched the spark of the lighter, when it caught flame. Yes, he knew he’d deliberately and obviously averted his gaze and that was weakness. He wasn’t sure he cared.
“Integra took me to see Arthur’s grave.” Alucard was staring at Walter over the rims of his glasses. His gaze was just as bloody and inscrutable as he remembered.
“Oh? And did you dance on it?”
“Of course not.” There was a softness to Alucard’s features sometimes, when he addressed him. Only years later had Walter recognized it as the patience reserved for small children. It was far more disconcerting to see that well of knowing pity directed at him so many years later. Alucard was so adept at feigning such things.
“Don’t tell me you wept into a handkerchief?” This was said lightly, like a joke. But whatever the mad relationship between Arthur and Alucard could even be called, it turned his stomach.
He was silent for a moment. Instead he responded with: “Where were you Walter?”
Ah, so that was the point of this awkward little reunion. He wanted information.
The words rolled off his tongue easily, because they were true. “South America. Arthur named me the executor, I was sorting through his affairs.”
“And you left the daughter with Richard?”
Walter shrugged. He put out his own cigarette, only half finished, just to give himself something to do. “I’m merely the butler. I don’t question orders.”
Alucard’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t press the subject any further. “So you are. Have the years been kind to you then, Walter? Or do your bones creak with age?”
Somehow, his own expression did not falter. He didn’t even glare. “Kinder than they were to you, I’d imagine.” And with that he turned to leave. He’d idled long enough.
It was time to get back to work.