D" for Short
Inquiry ( Chapter 6 )
There was a photograph in his mother's office that Dante had never quite understood. It was one of very few decorations in the vast, tiled space, which meant that it was important, but Dante did not know all of the people in it. That might not have been unusual if the individuals were soldiers. Although he had some exposure to his mother's private army, the child was not well-acquainted with them. One uniform-clad individual was the same as another in his young eyes, except of course for Seras—but she was special. She played games with him and was the only person he knew besides himself and his father who drank blood.
No, the individual that Dante did not recognize in the simply-framed photo was not a soldier or a vampire. He was old, and he was wearing a vest and dress shirt and neatly pressed slacks. A single clear lens sat over his left eye, and his tie was snug and tucked with careful precision down the front of his vest. He had long hair, like a few of the soldiers did, but it was pulled back into a slick ponytail. What made him important enough to be in a picture on his mother's desk?
Maybe the photograph wasn't there because of that man at all, Dante thought. Maybe it was there because his mother was in it. She was young, only a girl, and dressed in a simple blouse and skirt. She stood just slightly in front of the strange man, whose hands were clasped behind his back, and she was smiling. Integra hardly ever smiled unless she was with family.
Still, it would be odd for her to display a picture just because she was in it. All the other photos Dante had seen of her included a family member or official in them, like the one she kept on her dresser that showed her sitting in a chair with Dante in her lap and his father standing behind them. Dante did not remember the picture being taken, but he was told he had only been a few months old at the time.
Family was important to his mother, as stern and cold as she often seemed. Dante knew that she loved him, and that she loved his father and even Seras in her way. He was beginning to wonder if she loved the strange man in the picture on her desk as well. Curiosity won out over caution, and the boy carefully grasped the wooden frame and climbed down from his perch on the empty desk. Integra was often asleep at this time of the morning, but he would check with her first, just in case. If she was already in bed, Alucard might be able to answer Dante's questions in her stead.
Dante reached up as high as he could when he came to his mother's door and knocked on the thick hardwood. It was just a light rap of his knuckles against the surface, loud enough that she would notice if she were awake, but soft enough that it would not bother her if she were sleeping. Immediately, he heard the groan of a mattress inside the room, followed by soft footsteps. The door opened to reveal Integra, barefoot and wearing a white terrycloth robe over green silk pajamas. She was wearing her glasses, which usually mean she'd been reading by the light on her nightstand.
“What is it Dante?” she asked, without the slightest trace of ire at being woken by a seven-year-old boy at two o'clock in the morning.
In answer, the child turned the picture frame in his hands so his mother could see the photograph. “Who is he?” Dante tapped the image of the elderly man for emphasis, despite the fact that there was no one else in the picture besides his mother as a child.
Something in Integra's expression shifted, and Dante recognized that he had unintentionally asked her a difficult question. Her lips drew together the same way they did whenever she tried to explain something special about his father or the Hellsing family to him. Dante suddenly worried that he should not have said anything at all. His mother sighed and gently ran a hand over his hair.
“Come sit with me,” she instructed as she gently took the picture from him and grasped one of his hands in her own. Two chairs waited near the fireplace she hardly ever used, but Integra ignored them in favor of lifting Dante onto the slightly rumpled covers of her large bed. He snuggled against the pillows in front of the headboard and pulled the comforter up to his waist. Intregra climbed in after him and put one arm around his shoulders while she held the picture so they could both see it. “I was wondering when you would ask about this.”
Dante frowned and edged closer to his mother, who responded by wrapping her arm a little more securely around him. His question had made her sad. He knew that as surely as if she had frowned or cried or told him so herself. Doubt gave rise to anxiety, and he caught his lower lip in his teeth as he waited for Integra to go on.
“This picture was taken when I was twelve. The man standing with me was the family butler. His name was Walter.”
Butler? Dante released his lip long enough to say, “But we don't have a butler.” He knew what they were from stories, and he knew there wasn't one in the house. He also knew there was no one called `Walter' in the house, either, and had never heard anyone speak about a man with that name.
Integra summoned a smile as she set the picture down in her lap. “No, we don't have a butler. Not anymore. Walter was with our family for a long time, perhaps longer than anyone has been except for your father. After he left, I never filled the position. There was no one else who could do what he did for Hellsing.”
There was more to her explanation than Dante could readily understand, so he accepted her words without protest and instead moved on to the next thing that troubled him. “What happened, Mummy?” Where had Walter gone, that it made his mother so sad?
“He died, sweetheart.”
Death was not a concept that Integra had to explain to Dante. He had learned early on what it meant, living as he did at a secret military installation, the scion of generations of vampire hunters and the No Life King. “You miss him,” he said with utmost certainty, though his own experience of the emotion was restricted to his parents' occasional absences and the inability to locate a favored toy when he forgot to clean his room or was in trouble for doing something he shouldn't have.
“Yes, I do. He was as much a part of our family as your father or Seras. He died under … difficult circumstances.”
At this, Dante slipped out from under his mother's arm and climbed into her lap. He put his arms around her as best he could and whispered, “I'm sorry.” His mother returned the embrace and bestowed a soft kiss to the crown of his head, as if to tell him that her melancholy was not his fault.
“He would have loved you,” she murmured.
Distantly, Dante heard Alucard speak to her in her mind. He was not supposed to eavesdrop on his parents, but there were times when he couldn't help it. The child shivered at the words his father said.
I would have killed him if he did not.
No, the individual that Dante did not recognize in the simply-framed photo was not a soldier or a vampire. He was old, and he was wearing a vest and dress shirt and neatly pressed slacks. A single clear lens sat over his left eye, and his tie was snug and tucked with careful precision down the front of his vest. He had long hair, like a few of the soldiers did, but it was pulled back into a slick ponytail. What made him important enough to be in a picture on his mother's desk?
Maybe the photograph wasn't there because of that man at all, Dante thought. Maybe it was there because his mother was in it. She was young, only a girl, and dressed in a simple blouse and skirt. She stood just slightly in front of the strange man, whose hands were clasped behind his back, and she was smiling. Integra hardly ever smiled unless she was with family.
Still, it would be odd for her to display a picture just because she was in it. All the other photos Dante had seen of her included a family member or official in them, like the one she kept on her dresser that showed her sitting in a chair with Dante in her lap and his father standing behind them. Dante did not remember the picture being taken, but he was told he had only been a few months old at the time.
Family was important to his mother, as stern and cold as she often seemed. Dante knew that she loved him, and that she loved his father and even Seras in her way. He was beginning to wonder if she loved the strange man in the picture on her desk as well. Curiosity won out over caution, and the boy carefully grasped the wooden frame and climbed down from his perch on the empty desk. Integra was often asleep at this time of the morning, but he would check with her first, just in case. If she was already in bed, Alucard might be able to answer Dante's questions in her stead.
Dante reached up as high as he could when he came to his mother's door and knocked on the thick hardwood. It was just a light rap of his knuckles against the surface, loud enough that she would notice if she were awake, but soft enough that it would not bother her if she were sleeping. Immediately, he heard the groan of a mattress inside the room, followed by soft footsteps. The door opened to reveal Integra, barefoot and wearing a white terrycloth robe over green silk pajamas. She was wearing her glasses, which usually mean she'd been reading by the light on her nightstand.
“What is it Dante?” she asked, without the slightest trace of ire at being woken by a seven-year-old boy at two o'clock in the morning.
In answer, the child turned the picture frame in his hands so his mother could see the photograph. “Who is he?” Dante tapped the image of the elderly man for emphasis, despite the fact that there was no one else in the picture besides his mother as a child.
Something in Integra's expression shifted, and Dante recognized that he had unintentionally asked her a difficult question. Her lips drew together the same way they did whenever she tried to explain something special about his father or the Hellsing family to him. Dante suddenly worried that he should not have said anything at all. His mother sighed and gently ran a hand over his hair.
“Come sit with me,” she instructed as she gently took the picture from him and grasped one of his hands in her own. Two chairs waited near the fireplace she hardly ever used, but Integra ignored them in favor of lifting Dante onto the slightly rumpled covers of her large bed. He snuggled against the pillows in front of the headboard and pulled the comforter up to his waist. Intregra climbed in after him and put one arm around his shoulders while she held the picture so they could both see it. “I was wondering when you would ask about this.”
Dante frowned and edged closer to his mother, who responded by wrapping her arm a little more securely around him. His question had made her sad. He knew that as surely as if she had frowned or cried or told him so herself. Doubt gave rise to anxiety, and he caught his lower lip in his teeth as he waited for Integra to go on.
“This picture was taken when I was twelve. The man standing with me was the family butler. His name was Walter.”
Butler? Dante released his lip long enough to say, “But we don't have a butler.” He knew what they were from stories, and he knew there wasn't one in the house. He also knew there was no one called `Walter' in the house, either, and had never heard anyone speak about a man with that name.
Integra summoned a smile as she set the picture down in her lap. “No, we don't have a butler. Not anymore. Walter was with our family for a long time, perhaps longer than anyone has been except for your father. After he left, I never filled the position. There was no one else who could do what he did for Hellsing.”
There was more to her explanation than Dante could readily understand, so he accepted her words without protest and instead moved on to the next thing that troubled him. “What happened, Mummy?” Where had Walter gone, that it made his mother so sad?
“He died, sweetheart.”
Death was not a concept that Integra had to explain to Dante. He had learned early on what it meant, living as he did at a secret military installation, the scion of generations of vampire hunters and the No Life King. “You miss him,” he said with utmost certainty, though his own experience of the emotion was restricted to his parents' occasional absences and the inability to locate a favored toy when he forgot to clean his room or was in trouble for doing something he shouldn't have.
“Yes, I do. He was as much a part of our family as your father or Seras. He died under … difficult circumstances.”
At this, Dante slipped out from under his mother's arm and climbed into her lap. He put his arms around her as best he could and whispered, “I'm sorry.” His mother returned the embrace and bestowed a soft kiss to the crown of his head, as if to tell him that her melancholy was not his fault.
“He would have loved you,” she murmured.
Distantly, Dante heard Alucard speak to her in her mind. He was not supposed to eavesdrop on his parents, but there were times when he couldn't help it. The child shivered at the words his father said.
I would have killed him if he did not.