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It was the early hours of the evening when he conceded, pushing open the lid of his coffin. Sleep was an elusive thing, and the few peaceful hours he'd had surely didn't suffice, but it was past the time in life to be complaining about that. Without the light of his candles, used more for theatrics than anything, it was pitch black in the sub-basement. Vampiric eyes scanned the near-empty room with ease, checking the far corners of it even after his senses registered nothing was present. Some habits never fully leave a person, it would seem. The lack of appliances or light fixtures eliminated the usual 'household sounds' from the room, leaving it dead-silent in a way more familiar to his old life than the turn of the modern century.
1997 — the sands of time truly stopped for no one, human or otherwise.
He found her where he usually did on these days: beneath the moonlight, looking out at the courtyard of the Estate, resting comfortably in one of the lounge seats. A book was set aside on a small table nearby, likely a means to pass the time until the light of day had grown too dim. Her ashy hair was pushed back, blue eyes soft with contentment. She was beautiful – but then, when wasn't she?
The sun had finally dipped below the sky's view only a short while ago, was still leaving the faintest cascades of orange light trying to break through the darkness. It wasn't a sunset, likely the reason she'd been out in the first place, but it was a particular moment of the day that, no matter how fleeting, belonged to them. Tiredly, a smile tugged at the monster's lips, as he moved to join her on the balcony.
Integra didn't look up as he approached; she hadn't a need to, would've known the familiar way that the edges of the shadows flickered and rippled under his influence anywhere, no matter how inaudible his footsteps. A hand extended upward, the other still idly swishing the contents of a wine glass; it appeared mostly untouched, likely wasn't really for her at all. "Alucard." A murmured greeting, calm, fingers lacing loosely with his own when he accepted the gesture. "Good evening."
"Good evening, Miss Hellsing." The formality was a moot point, his voice still thick with sleep and heavy with affection. "Did the daylight world treat you well today?"
He thumbed softly over her hand, tracing tiny circles into it, before stepping closer and sinking to kneel next to her chair. He would've preferred to pretend that it was simply out of respect, but it was far too early into the night, and so they both knew it was more than that. Monsters really were just frightened children, after all.
"It did." She answered mildly, unhurried, like she'd been waiting for him to settle before responding. Knowing her brilliance, she probably had been. Whoever had given a human in their early 20s the emotional intelligence of an elderly woman, he'd never understand. 'God worked in mysterious ways' – or maybe all the compounding trauma could just do that to a person in her position. It didn't matter why; moments like this, even through the faint irritation, he could only be grateful for it.
In the corners of his vision, Integra was setting aside the wine glass, leaving it next to her forgotten book. A moment of contemplation later, her fingers were carefully carding through the vampire's hair. Inky black strands slipped between them like silken shadows, an occasional tendril curling up to twist around her digits before fading back into the rest. Eventually, she continued speaking. "Were you having nightmares again, Alucard?"
"It was nothing." An immediate deflection, he nearly growled the words. She didn't flinch; his Master never did, after all. That gentle petting didn't falter, and she did not rush him to the next reply. Heartbeats drug on, the minutes caught in a flurry of emotions that he didn't dare put names to anymore. When the silence was uninterrupted, the air left open between them, he inevitably found himself giving in. A rough sigh rattled in his lungs. "…Nothing new, m'lady. I'm simply-"
I just need a moment. Please. Ultimately, the sentence died unfinished on his tongue. Where it concerned the topic of vulnerability, that shouldn't have come as a surprise to anyone.
Alucard tugged the hand he'd been holding closer, nudging her blazer sleeve up with his nose to nuzzle lightly along the warm skin of her wrist. Breathing in the familiar scents of her soaps, smoke from her cigars, her blood – it offered a temporary reprieve from the coiled pressure in his chest. It also spiked his hunger from a dull ache in his fangs, to something far closer to shoving a lit match down his throat, but the pain was a welcome distraction from the day's miserable dreams. It was fine; breakfast was sure to be soon enough, and the comfort was exceedingly more important.
"You have all the time you need, Alucard." Her reassurance came several moments later, without him ever needing to explain, voice steady and grounding. Fingertips still danced through his hair, careful not to tug in the places where it wasn't phasing in and out of corporeal reality. Otherwise, she left the opposite to rest in his grip, letting him scent-mark along tanned skin like an affectionate cat.
They would stay like that for a long time, falling into a comfortable kind of silence that was disrupted only by the welcomed sounds of nightlife and the faint buzz of the balcony's light. Finally, after sunset eyes had slipped closed and his shaky (minute but needless) breathes had stilled and turned to soft purrs, she whispered again. "The wine is already laced, when you want it."
So were a few of the ways that Integra Hellsing had found to sooth her favorite beast. And the Count, for all his musings about old freedoms, was starting to find that he didn't really mind being a pet vampire, so long as it meant being hers.