Hellsing Fan Fiction ❯ Tell Me How You're Feeling... ❯ Week One ( Chapter 2 )

Anderson, being trained in combat skills, analyzed the situation. The doctor's office was well-organized, sunny, and neat, with a series of windows along the wall opposite the door and bookshelves along the wall to his right. A desk was pushed against the wall to the left of the door, and the doctor was sitting backward in the black rolling computer chair, watching him. This left one seat available for him: a gray and green patterned overstuffed armchair. He frowned at it. It was facing away from the door, and he thought that this could make a quick, mid-appointment escape difficult. He lingered in the doorway for another moment.

The doctor, a short, dark fellow with mischevious black eyes and an American sense of fashion, stood up and gestured to him. "Come in! You must be Father Anderson."

"Yes," he answered curtly, and resigned himself to the armchair. It was closer to the ground than was comfortable, and his long legs sprawled out awkwardly in the space between the two chairs. "Just so there's no misunderstandings between us right away, Dr. Benedetto, I want to be here like I want another hole in my head."

The smaller man raised a brow at this, but nodded. "Yes, Father Maxwell said that this might be the case." He turned back to his desk momentarily, shuffling through stacks of papers until he produced a manilla file folder and a yellow legal pad. "He also sent me copies of all unclassified relevant information, and I have been briefed on the types of activities that Section Thirteen…"

"I heard that you worked with Yumiko before," Anderson cut him off impatiently. He didn't actually believe that Maxwell-or any of the supervisors of the Iscariot Division-would actually be idiotic enough to send him off to an uninformed, uncomprehending civilian to discuss the particularities of his life. "Let's get this over with."

Dr. Benedetto flashed him a smile. "Certainly; whenever you are ready." He sat back down-the correct way this time-and leaned back in his seat at an angle, with his legal pad and a pen conveniently at arm's reach on the desk. "Don't feel restricted by time. I left my scheduling open today in case this was going well."

Anderson grunted an acknowledgement. He'd been hoping that-though it would seem longer and be torturous-it would only be a half an hour to an hour, and that afterward he could tell Maxwell that, really, he was feeling much better, thanks, and never have to do this again. And then take a long, long shower to scrub the filthy presence of the experience from his memory. He rested his elbows on the arms of the chair and steepled his fingers together, wondering if he just kept quiet he'd be sent home.

"So…" After a long silence, Benedetto flipped through the manilla folder. "Tell me about the vampire. Alucard."

Anderson scowled, feeling the tension already gathering in his forehead. No, I will not be baited! "Are you a Christian man, Doctor?" he asked quietly.

"I don't think that's an issue here." Benedetto was skimming the folder contents still. "You have faced this creature twice, and both attempts to dispatching it were futile. You are devoted to your work and you have been successful in previous dealings with vampires and other demons… what happened here? How do you feel about this?"

Anderson's eyes flared fox-fire in rage, and his arms snapped down to grip the armrests and he leaned forward. The low, squatty form of the chair made it difficult for him to get his legs under him to propel him into a forward lunge or standing position quickly, fortunately for the doctor, but due to his tall, lanky frame, he was able to lean surprising close to the other man. "I feel," he emphasized, biting off his words with sharp teeth, "that the thing called Alucard is undead, a walking soulless demon-possessed corpse, and that it is my duty as a devout Catholic and a Paladin of the Holy Church to banish him to the darkest corner of Hell where he will suffer in a lake of fire for all eternity!" He slammed his large hands down on the chair for punctuation and took a deep breath, building a full head of steam. "I also feel that I hate that thing's incessant grinning and taunting, that I would love to drive one of my blades through his stupid mouth and cut his demonic, mocking tongue out! I would have succeeded in destroying him-him and that other!-the first time if it wasn't for that…" there was a minute pause as he groped for an appropriate word "…that woman. Sir Hellsing," he sneered, settling back into the chair. "A woman who actually thinks she's capable of surviving in the man's world of business and politics, and she's a heretic as well… They used to burn women like her at the stake."

Anderson lapsed into a brooding silence, listening to the scritch of Benedetto's pen on the legal pad, then suddenly broke out again, "He shot off my arms! No one else could have even survived, but did they say anything sympathetic or understanding? No! What do I get? 'Why are you such a failure, Anderson? You know, if you screw up again…' Some gratitude."

"It sounds," Benedetto kept writing, his face screwed up in concentration, "that you have a great deal of unresolved anger and guilt concerning these incidences. Would you like to talk about this?"

"We are all guilty of sin and trespass, doctor," Anderson replied smoothly, feeling comforted that he wasn't asking more about Hellsing and that the conversation was straying back into familiar and expected territory. He was beginning to regret that last outburst and vowed to have better control over himself. "I confess my sins and perform my penance, and am absolved of my guilt. Do you?"

There was a moment when both men simply looked at one another, then Benedetto returned to writing in his pad. "I'll take it that's a no. You seem very passionate about your faith and your career, Father, however…" he hesitated, "… your superiors have expressed a displeasure with your preoccupation with the Hellsing Organization and what occurred there."

Anderson bared his teeth, a low growl vibrating his broad chest. "I am aware of that." He glared viciously, remembering Alucard's idiot grin, the one he wore as Anderson snarled only inches from his face, disarmed and helpless. "He's one of the most powerful nosferatu that the division has ever faced, and certainly the most powerful we've dealt with in the last hundred years… and protected by an organization devoted to the destruction of his kind! Him and that other one both!"

"Ceres Victoria." Benedetto had reshuffled the stack of papers.

It was not quite a question, and Anderson looked up sharply. "Is that what his spawn used to be?" He gave a short, barking laugh. "Yes… that one too." He shifted uncomfortably in irritation, trying to find something to do with his legs. "Heh… a fledgling, and I couldn't destroy her either," he snarled bitterly, clenching his hands. "She makes me look a fool, her and Alucard both."

Benedetto frowned at him, tapping his fingers rhythmically against the desk corner, the slight noise seeming loud in the quiet room. "You are doing very well… but I feel that maybe we would make more progress if you would let me hypnotize you… would you consent to this procedure?"

"We used to burn people like you at the stake, too." Anderson grinned, his eyes lighting up, once more folding his hands in front of him in a contemplative gesture, almost as though he was praying.

Benedetto did not seem impressed by this, but flipped to a new page in his legal pad and wrote something down. Anderson wondered idly what he kept making notes on, and decided that he didn't like having some stranger dissect his mind with all the understanding and finesse of a chimpanzee using a spoon for heart surgery. Then a terrible thought floated evilly through his mind… Why am I sitting here just taking this abuse? I may be stuck here and forced to go through with it, but that doesn't mean I need to play along… His grin widened to maniacal proportions, and a soft snicker escaped him, causing the doctor to look up in something close to alarm.

"Yes?"

"Doctor Benedetto, lemme tell you about what I like to do." The doctor nodded and gestured for him to continue. "I like to kill things, doctor. And I'm good at it, and so I get to do it often. Though…" he paused in mock thoughtfulness, "… it's not really killing because they're already dead, but in essence, I am killing the body that the demons inhabit. And I like that. I like it a lot." He kept his tone light and earnest, and it wasn't difficult; he was being truthful, if exaggerating a little. "I like the meaty thump of my blades meeting their damned flesh; I like watching them return to the dust from which they came and be scattered by the wind. And I love it when they fight back… the useless, pathetic strugglings of a creature less than human as its tries to hold onto its unholy unlife, as it tries to tempt me into believing that it has a thinking mind and soul. They know that they are hell-bound, and scream in protest… and I love it; I love doing the Lord's work."

"Uh-huh," the doctor responded, looking at him strangely. He had paused in his note-taking to stare at Anderson, and the priest was amused and a little gratified to see that this had shaken him.

"God guides my hand…" he murmured, remembering for a brief moment the day he was ordained, then he grinned again, playing. "I love killing things. And I dream of driving my swords through the undead flesh of Hellsing's pets." And the twisting the blades, just to get the point across…

Benedetto looked at him for a long time, his head propped up on the heel of his hand, his elbow on the desk. "Are you perchance familiar with any of the ideas of Sigmund Freud?" His pen drew lazy circles on the paper.

Anderson raised a single brow elegantly, confused at first as to the nature of the question, then froze, staring in horror. For a merciful moment, his rage was so complete that it kept him immobile, then a strangled, inarticulate, indignant yell escaped his lips and he was blinded by white-hot fury. When he could see again, he realized that he had somehow sprung up from his seat and had pinned the doctor against the desk, and was making a good attempt to throttle him. He frowned, and released Benedetto's lapels, smoothing them out carefully. "Beg your pardon," he muttered, not feeling very sorry at all, then noticed that the yellow legal pad had fallen to the floor. Anderson stared at it, fighting the horribly tempting urge to pick it up and read it.

I should see what he's going to be telling Maxwell; I'll be better armed with the proper information and can begin planning a response to it not… I'll never get an opportunity like this again.

No! No, no. It's not right; it's none of my business. It doesn't matter what this poor man thinks of me, I'm a righteous man, and he can't say anything to hurt me.

He sighed, then reached and picked the tablet up, thrusting it out to the doctor with a grimace of distaste. Against his will, his eyes picked up the words "violently aggressive" and "paranoid." After Benedetto took it with a quiet word of thanks he wiped his hand on his pants, as though he'd touched something dirty.

"Err…" Benedetto seemed at a loss, and Anderson silenced him with an angry glance.

"I'm going home now," he said, leaning over the smaller man threateningly for a moment before whirling away-sending his coat out behind him-and heading for the door.

He was already out into the hallway when he heard Benedetto's voice calling, "See you next week, Father!"

Anderson snarled in response.

That'll be a cold day in hell!