Hellsing Fan Fiction ❯ Tell Me How You're Feeling... ❯ Interlude ( Chapter 3 )

It'd been a quiet six days.

Anderson had been expecting a summery meeting with Maxwell within two days-three, tops-of his appointment with Dr. Benedetto, but there had been no such message.

He was beginning to get nervous.

No news usually wasn't good news in Iscariot.

He was sitting on the edge of his bed, half-listening to the TV news report and sharpening his swords, when the request for a meeting finally came. He tucked the blades into his coat and patted them, assured. Though he would not need swords for this confrontation, he felt more comfortable with them. He slipped his hand into one of the coat's deep pockets and fingered the rosary beads there, counting off a decade almost unconsciously as he walked.

Kyrie eleison me.

Anderson stopped outside the large double doors and took a deep breath, trying to rearrange his face into an expression of calm neutrality. For all I know, I'm being sent out to work. This may not have anything with the doctor. I might even get another chance to return to England! He bared his teeth in a savage cross between a snarl and smile, then frowned slowly. The thought of another rematch with Hellsing's pet should not excite me so much… this is why I am being punished. He ran a gloved hand through his freshly-cut hair, then knocked once and entered.

Enrico Maxwell glanced up from the stack of papers in from of him, and Anderson walked forward until he reached the large shining walnut desk. Maxwell did not ask or gesture for him to sit, but he was more comfortable on his feet anyway and did not make a move to take a seat.

"Yes, Father?"

Maxwell rested his elbows on the desktop, his hands clasped together with his pale face pressed against them, and he stared at Anderson for a long, uncomfortable minute. "The scholarly article that you submitted to the Catholic Theological Association is excellent work, Father Anderson," he said finally. "Of course, you have the experience of dealing with demons and other unholy creatures; few others have the necessary knowledge to detail such a comprehensive analysis of the nature of evil. We'll also be keeping a copy for our records, of course."

"Of course." Anderson waited. He knew that he hadn't been called down here to chat about his dissertation on the continued necessity of the Catholic Church's acknowledgement of Satan and the use of exorcism. Though, he mourned for a moment privately, it is nice to have someone appreciate it, even as an opening to the rest of the conversation. He was required, for some inexplicable reason, to write at least one scholarly theological essay a year, along with teaching in the orphanage and slaughtering the undead. The research for this paper had driven him to distraction; he wasn't a very organized man and he had kept losing his notes and outlines, and then had to go back and look up large chunks of information-three times. Actually writing the bloody thing was worse… Heinkel had laughed when he'd finally snapped and chucked one of the Vatican's laptops out an open window in a fit of rage, sending one of his blades out after it. In retrospect, he supposed he couldn't blame her.

Maxwell hesitated very briefly, and Anderson wondered if he would throw up another smokescreen-ask about the boys in the orphanage, perhaps-before he got down to business. He did not, and Anderson was both grateful and apprehensive.

"Father, I received a letter from Dr. Benedetto…"

Anderson tensed, struggling to maintain a blank expression.

"…and it's… less than encouraging." Maxwell unfolded his hands and picked up a letter, skimming it as he talked. "Even considering the nature of your work, and the emotional stress involved, he is worried and recommends you return for subsequent visits."

Anderson scowled petulantly, fighting the urge to bare his teeth in disgust like a cat. "I think I'd prefer the rack. Or thumbscrews."

"Now be reasonable, Father..."

"The boot?" Anderson raised a brow. "A wire jacket? The wheel?"

"This is only torture because you choose to see it as such…"

"I'm even willing to replace the lab rats in the basement… I don't mind; they can do whatever they want to me."

"…and maybe you should see it as a learning experience, instead." Maxwell was undeterred, and frowned at Anderson's repeat offers to subject himself to some of the worse invented by the Inquisition instead of simply accepting psychological therapy. "You're just being childish. You know that this was coming for a while. Especially after the incident in the rose gardens. "

This silenced Anderson, and he shuffled uncomfortable, his eyes lowered to the floor. Hoped they'd forgotten that… but no, of course they didn't.

"Now. You will go and see Dr. Benedetto again, and you will cooperate with him. And you will go as long as he thinks you need to. You are dismissed."

Anderson nodded with a heavy sigh and headed for the door. Maxwell's voice stopped him as his hand touched the handle.

"And try not to strangle him this week, please, Father."

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Ok, so my version of Anderson has a strange sense of humor. That's OK, right? ^_^

"Kyrie eleison me" means "Lord have mercy on me."

The Inquisition still exists in the Catholic Church, but it was recently renamed the Congregation of the Doctrine of the Faith, and doesn't do anything interesting anymore… or so we think. I personally think that Section XIII would fall under the Congregation.

Mental image for you: Anderson with Inquisition-style torture equipment. O.o