Work Text:
It had been nearly ten or so years since Millenium's disastrous attack on London. Construction still occurred, artifacts still being cleaned, annual news reports circulating on the anniversary. London had grown cold but bustling its upheaval, surging with new life as other countries rallied around London’s obliteration, seeking in unison to return the great city to what it was prior.
Life went on as close to normal as it could within Hellsing Manor.
Over the last seven years, and surely still more to come, the five of them had been making their peace, coming slowly back to the normative rhythm. The Round Table pestered Sir Hellsing. Three vampires were awful trouble, they claimed, and to which they simply earned the reply “trouble for the less informed, yes”.
Seras did her part to aid in all the adjusting. The first three years were the worst. Tumultuous nights and days spent doing this and that; lingering at Pip’s side to share in his recuperation, freezing in tandem when the hiss of a wire was misheard, carefully watching Alucard’s expression for any sign of confusion or aloofness. It was all very tolling. But they made it through, they made it work.
All of their hard work made them into a family of sorts, connecting in unity that, though often with bumps of miscommunication or simple strife, was unshakable. They had all been through so much and yet they all remained. Not unscathed, not perfect, but together.
It had all been such a blur. The longest night of her life was not the loom of eternity, but rather the dragging insanity of the Airship Incident. But now, Seras sat at her vanity, fluffing her straw blonde hair. The shock of being able to see her sunny countenance reflected at her despite vampiric myth having never gotten old. She ran a creamy, pale rouge lipstick over her bottom lip, smacking to disperse it. She batted her lashes, admiring her look. For not having done makeup in perhaps a half-decade, Seras was awfully proud of herself.
She had to admit she felt as though she truly captured the allusive vampire look nowadays.
“Ready?” Pip snubbed a cigarette out in the ashtray on the bedside table without raising his eye. He remained sitting on the mattress, his crutches waiting beside him.
“Mhm.” Seras chirped when she turned, standing up. “Look, now.” She clasped her hands together at her front, smiling goofily as Pip looked to her, green eye soaking up the dark burgundy of her dress, the sweep of her black jacket, and the sheen of her tights. He smoothed the front of his pressed button-down instinctively.
“Ah, ma chérie , you look stunning.” His voice was breathy in awe. “ Maintenant, aidez-moi, un homme impotent. ”
“Don’t say that,” Seras murmured, her smile light as she walked to him, helping position the crutches and herself as a post of support. “I can’t stand it when you talk yourself down.”
“I know, I know, mais, ton français est très bon, ma chérie. ”
“ J’ai un excellent professeur. ”
“ Ah, oui, et j’ai une excellente étudiante. ”
“ La meilleure, évidemment. ”
“ C’est vrai. ” He craned his neck and seeing the invitation, Seras bent at the waist, cupping his face in her smooth hands, to kiss him gently. Once.
“Now, come on.” Seras helped him up, his legs stiffening and weakening beneath his weight. Despite his recovery, to a degree she didn’t think was possible, it still panged her heart to see the damage done. His hips were off-kilter, broken and shattered and despite having reformed, they were never quite strong enough to lift him again. Walking was nearly impossible. But they made things work.
She aided him out and Seras promised she wouldn’t wreck the family car. Driving was comforting to her, enjoying the passing by lights over the streets in rural England blended into reconstructed outer London. Pip sat in the passenger, not-so-subtly staring at Seras’s profile as they coarsed their way into the city. Warm light replaced the luminescent ones of the rural backroads, dousing them both in a wash of casual orange. They parked. It was a long walk to their reservation. Pip detested it but smiled on. Seras looped her arm around him carefully, tediously watching him.
The place was recommended to her.
Alucard said he knew the owner. She lived above the restaurant. And slept in a coffin.
Despite it being quite a hole in the wall in location, the inside was luxurious, dimly lit, adorned with fresh greenery and real candles. A jazz band played in the corner. The tablecloths were black. The light fixtures were Edwardian. It smelt of freshly cooked, expensive meats and aromatic garnish. Every patron was finely dressed.
They were seated in the back, tucked into an alcove in the wall; a snug table for two. Pip sat with some struggle, huffing once before he rested his gaze upon Seras. They grinned at each other. Her boot brushed his calves and he curled his lips in good humor, making the “I can’t feel that” expression at her. She grinned more despite herself.
When the waiter served them wine, they lifted their glasses. Seras was consumed by the warmth, the gleam, of his smiling eye.
“ Bon anniversaire, ma chérie, mon Seras Victoria. ”
“Happy Anniversary, my Pip Bernadotte.”
They clinked their glasses and drank.
Her sip was rich with blood.