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Anderson is a caring person. As hesitent as he is to confess such a fact, it remains a fact he's unable to hide.
At the orphanage seemingly all his kids have picked up on this weakness. So when everyone says "no" to their demands, they turn to Anderson knowing he'll cave. They come to him with the most impossible of tasks sometimes. On one occasion a girl pleaded with him for a literal unicorn.
The least Anderson can do is explain the sin of greed and provide a reminder to appreciate what you have.
... Followed by scavenging shops for an acceptable unicorn stuffed animal.
But when he finally found one, the look of pure excitement on her face made Anderson take mercy on himself for his blatent weakness.
The other staff at the orphanage have stated on numerous occasions that they're happy when Anderson leaves for his trips. Because if he were there all the time the children would surely become irredeemable spoiled.
Anderson can merely give a sheepish chuckle. There is truth to their words, a truth Anderson fears lead to Maxwell's selfish ego. But that doesn't stop Anderson from picking up more gifts for the kids. He'd rather them spoiled and happy than neglected and abused.
He's never had a reason to stop himself from caring. With an edge of protectiveness his skills are sharpened. Caring keeps him human and motivated in ways Anderson needs more days than he'd care to admit.
But what Anderson feared and had once presumed impossible happened...
He cares for a monster.
For Hellsing's damned vampire.
Somehow, he managed to grow a soft spot. A soft spot that escaped his notice and has now turn into something Anderson has no hope of squashing out.
His one weakness he thought a monster could never have access to. The one angle he thought would never be hit.
Not like this, never like this…
Looking back he knows where it all started. It was their second interaction, in that moment that Alucard stalled and hesitated in favor of the elderly. That meeting Alucard left without fight or argument. With a soft smile he agreed to the value of a time and place. That small act spoke of something far more reasonable and human than Anderson ever thought a beast capable of. Alucard turned his back first, and Anderson did not strike.
The thing is, Alucard keeps turning his back.
Such as now, when Anderson finds the vampire passed out on his bed. By all means he should slaughter the beast right then and there. Yank him up by his hair and shove him out the window. He should have flung a bayonet the moment he recognized the other's presence.
And yet he didn’t. And thus, he doesn't.
He closes the door behind him and locks it to make sure nobody risks entering. He stares at the beast sprawled out in his bed. Alucard's expression is one of a deep, exhausted slumber, showing no sign of waking soon and even less awareness twords the surrounding world. He's drooling ever so slightly on Anderson's pillow. Anderson should be revolted. He should be mortified.
But he gives a drained sigh, makes a plan to do laundry, picks a book from his shelf, and sits on the floor against the bed. He flips on the news and he lowers the volume as low as possible while remaining comprehendible. Then he leans back against the bed, flips open his book, and settles in for the time being.
He'll wait for Alucard to wake, and only then, shall he force the beast to explain himself.
"Damn weaknesses…"