AN/ It has been literally about six years since I've even attempted at writing any sort of fanfiction, so I deeply apologize in advance if any of what you are about to read sours your literary palates. Hellsing has always been a very difficult, if not intriguing series for me to write for.

The pain.

The deep, resonating, insurmountable pain in his head and chest was more than he thought he could bear. It was like the equivalent of being crushed mercilessly, being torn asunder by a fiery blade over and over again. It was the first thing he was conscious of. The second was the sound of voices. None of them seemed to be saying anything he could make out; it felt as though there was cotton in his ears. There was mumbling. Concerned sounding mumbling, but that was all he could comprehend for the time being.

Slowly, his eyes fluttered open, one at a time, and a bright, piercing light filled his vision. It seemed like it was burning directly into his soul. It made him sick. He groaned weakly, feeling his fingers shake and his mouth fill with saliva. A panic overtook him. He needed to turn over, but his body would not let him, despite how he struggled against its paralysis. He felt his stomach lurch several times in the most extremely unpleasant way, and he vomited.

Then, there was nothing but blackness.

'Doctor, look. The EKG.'

Confound it, what in God's Holy Name is that infernal beeping?

'Well, would you look at that.'

What is going on…?

'He seems to be much stronger than he was yesterday, his heart, at the very least. How curious. I've never seen anything like this.'

'I agree. Shall I send for Sir-'

'Yes, quickly, boy! You don't have to ask such silly questions.'

'Yes, Doctor. Right away.'

He tried to make a sound. He tried to move, tried to open his eyes. Nothing would work. He could tell quite easily that he was in a brightly lit room, wherever he was. The red glow from behind his eyelids told him that much. Suddenly, he was introduced to the full strength of the light as his eyes were pried open by careless fingers.

'Mm-hm, excellent. Pupillary response has normalized…'

He deduced that he must be in an infirmary of some sort, based on the medical banter he'd been hearing. But where was he, and why? What had happened? He sought the answer to his confusion as best as he could, probing the depths of his memory, trying to come to a conclusion. Only fragments allowed themselves to be discovered.

The Nail… in my heart. The Nail of Helena… I know it was there. And that monster…

Flashes of grey and fuzzy, slow moving memory came to him at once. That's right. There had been a battle. A fierce one, at that. He smirked to himself on the inside.

That Godless abomination was a fool to tempt his own fate.

Still, more recollections came to him. The memory of Maxwell and his insane, equally Godless crusade came to mind, and he could barely stand to think of it. That one hit him on a more personal, emotional level, though he'd never admit it outright. The shame of being De-Frocked by a man who chose to pursue power in the name of the Almighty was more than he could fathom at this moment. It was just as well, no more memories would flood his conscience, even if he willed them to.

'So he's improving, is he?'

Oh no. That voice.

That cool as slate, impenetrable, unwaveringly stern voice lilted its way to his ears, and if he could have gone any more frozen than he already was, he would have.

'Yes, Ma'am. At the rate at which he is progressing, it should be no more than a week's time before he is gnashing his teeth at us once again.'

The proclamation of his returning strength was punctuated with a distinct hint of vitriol.

'Very well, Doctor Keller. Please, do not hesitate to summon me if anything changes, for better or worse.'

'Yes, Ma'am.'

How very infuriating. How insulting. So he hadn't managed to destroy his enemy, after all. And what was worse, he was apparently being mended and babied by the very hand that tried to cut him down. The fury and rage at the thought of being treated in such a childish and disrespectful manner coursed through him. He wanted to scream.

'Doctor, look! His blood pressure is rising, and quickly!'

The good Doctor replied in a rather bland tone. 'Prepare a sedative, then. He must be conscious, but still immobile.'

No, I don't want a bloody sedative, you heathen butchers! Release me, kill me! To have your unclean hands upon me is an affront to the Lord!

No matter how much he struggled against them in his mind, the needle in his vein had a different agenda. Slowly, the cooling relief of whatever liquid that was being pumped into him reached his mind, and though the Paladin tried in earnest to fight it, the calming embrace of sleep took him into its arms, and again there was nothing but blackness.

He felt the eyes on him.

He heard no sound other than the breathing of whoever surrounded him.

The vague recollections of being tended to by impure hands were sliding back into his mind like melting ice, and puddles of clarity formed here and there. He remembered hearing Babylon's voice, and he nearly shuddered at it. The solidity of her presence nearly ran him through like a blade. He knew that she was here as well, her filthy Protestant aura was impossible to ignore.

His eyelids rose slowly, still feeling as heavy as hundred kilo weights. His brows furrowed as blurs of shapes and colors began to take form in front of him. He strained to see clearly what, or who it was that stood before him. His stomach churned, as well. He couldn't see the Damned Creature, but he could feel that unholy Red Devil's sickening omnipotence all around him.

Once his eyes had a chance to focus at least somewhat on the silhouettes in front of him, dull olive irises quickly flashed with fire, and turned a powerful, burning celadon.

'Good morning, Paladin Anderson.'

It was none other than Integra Hellsing.

'Spare me yer pleasantries, Ah kin' see straight through ye.'

Integra's aging manservant and second hand assassin stood obediently next to her, lips curled up in an almost teasing Cheshire grin. They were amused, and it sickened and angered Anderson to absolutely no end.

'Yeh Damnable creatures are truly Godless.' He croaked. 'Only a tribe a' Demon-Worshippin' filth'd deny a Man of God a Martyr's death.'

'You'd do well to not waste what little strength you have on insulting our Organization, Paladin. We scraped your carcass together for a purpose, and that purpose is not meaningless torment.'

Integra flashed him a purposeful glare.

'We honestly did not expect for you to recover. Had you died, we would have gladly shipped your remains back to Rome for the Vatican to piss on...'

She smirked as Anderson's face turned a shade of pale vermillion.

'…Not that they haven't already done that to your Priesthood.'

There wasn't a thing he could say to that. Maxwell had stripped him of his title. He could not, however, strip him of his faith. Anderson was a Man of God, clerical collar or not.

'In any case, Paladin, we at Hellsing still recognize your worth as a Purifier. This is why we have brought you here.'

Anderson arched a brow. Even in his weakened state, his mind was still sharp and the implications of Integra's statement did not escape him. It was, in essence, a job offer. The prospect of allying with Hellsing nearly made bile rise in his gullet. It infuriated him. Integra was right though, as much as it disgusted him to admit it. He could not waste what little strength he had on lashing out against his captors.

'Yer' all even greater fools than I thought, to even consider th' prospect'a me aligning with th' likes o'yeh.' He growled the threat in a menacing tone.

Integra humphed, and chewed the end of the unlit cigarillo she held between her teeth. He would be quite the difficult horse to break.

'Sir, if I might,' The manservant began. 'Perhaps we should leave to let Mr. Anderson consider the fact that he lives not because of the will of his God, but because of us.'

'A very astute observation, Walter.' She smiled at the aging man.

Anderson howled.

'Och, 'ow DARE ye e'en SPEAK 'is Holy Name in m'pres'nce, le'aloon think yer deserven'a ANY thanks'er gratitude fer tek'in me aweh from th'Right handa th'Lord?' He spat, his brogue becoming thicker and more incomprehensible as he raged on.

After his outburst, he coughed. A large, dark clot of blood came from his mouth and landed on the pristine white cotton blanket that covered him. His chest burned deeply and his mouth tasted of copper and sick.

'Calm yourself, Paladin' Integra began, coolly. 'We don't expect you to make a decision overnight. You're still weak, and we can't have you reversing all the work we've already put into you.'

She bit down on the end of the cigarillo once more.

'You need time to right your mind.'

The gravity of the situation was yet another crushing blow for Alexander Anderson, and he turned his gaze away from the two Protestant scum. What could he do? He was far too weak to escape and return to Rome. He couldn't fight them, he had no Blessed Blades and no Holy Tome, but damned if he'd lie here like a wounded dog, watching as this pack of wolves circled him. No, he'd rather take his own life and never enter into the Kingdom of Heaven than align with these unholy beasts and be damned to burn in Hell.

He didn't have steel or bullets, but he did have one thing.

He had the Holy fire of God inside him.

Anderson grinned at the prospect. Oh, these smug monstrosities had no earthly idea. With a snap of his fingers, he could set himself ablaze in the name of God, and take the whole damned compound along with him. He was no longer chained back by Maxwell, he acted of his own accord. These charlatans would never have the pleasure of having the Lord on their side, in any form.

'I need time fer no such thing, Babylon.'

Walter grimaced at the name the Paladin used for his dear Sir Integra. Such absolute disrespect for a woman he knew almost nothing about.

Anderson lifted his hand and glared daggers at the both of them. Index finger and thumb pressed together in a willful display of defiance, he grinned.

'I'll take my leave o' this filthy place, an' this existence, in the name of our Dear Lord, Jesus Christ, Amen.'

The Paladin braced himself for his inevitable incineration, but when the snap came, the flames did not. The lapping heat he had expected was nowhere to be found, and Integra and Walter stood before him, looking rather unimpressed. Bored, almost. Alexander panicked and tried it again, but to no avail. He felt no surge of power course through him. He felt no divine light, he felt no presence of the Almighty in his heart. His face paled and he snarled viciously at his captors.

'Wha'ave ye done ta me, demon wench?'

Integra chuckled to herself quietly.

'We anticipated such a reaction from you, Anderson.' Her eyes darted over to Walter momentarily. He must have noticed her, as he deftly produced a zippo from one of his pockets, and flicked the flint. Almost mockingly, a flame burst to life on the wick, and Integra inhaled deeply on her cigarillo. It seemed to be a direct insult to his suppressed abilities. 'And because of your nature, we took preventative measures.'

She exhaled.

'Your wrists.'

With fury rising in his stomach, he reluctantly unbuttoned the cuffs of the pyjamas they had apparently dressed him in. He slid the sleeves up on his forearms, and stared at his wrists, stunned and horrified.

They had marked him.

Two symbols, both identical, bore their presence on each wrist. They were quite similar to the seals that the demon Alucard wore on his gloves, only that in the place of a Pentagram, there were Crucifixes. Alexander shook, almost uncontrollably. He was enraged. He was in mourning. These demons… he had allowed them to mark him in such an unholy way. He was one of their abominations, he was sure of it. The color drained from his face and his head hung.

'This… this cannae be true. I am an abomination unto the Lord.'

'Not quite.' Integra sucked in another mouthful of smoke. 'You haven't been turned, and neither of the Nosferatu in my menagerie have an interest in doing such a thing to you, so I wouldn't concern yourself about that.'

She exhaled gently, and stepped closer towards the bed.

'Those seals on your wrists are there to prevent you from making any attempt at harming any of my men, Vampire or not, while you are with us.' She looked at him intently. 'And you will be with us for quite some time. Your regenerative qualities seem to have been greatly diminished.'

Integra spoke to Alexander in a tone that could only be construed as her attempt at being comforting. Despite her contempt for the man, she was aware of what an asset he would be to her mission, and she was not immune to human emotion. The Paladin was mourning the loss of what he held most dear, and she could understand that, on some level.

'Take some solace in knowing that the marks aren't permanent,' She said. 'I'll let you know more about your situation tomorrow, but for now, I urge you to rest. Try to quell your rage for now.'

Bright viridian met ice as they locked gazes. What a foolish request, this woman had made unto him.

A Lion does not obediently lay on its back and present its belly when leashed with a rope, he thought.

'I'll not be one o' yer pets, Harlot.'

With that statement, a low, baritone snigger seemed to permeate the air and fill the room with its thickness. The hairs on Anderson's body stood at an absolute attention, and his very core tingled. He knew that sound all too well, and it disgusted him every time it came to his ears. It was like nails on a chalkboard to the Nth power.

'Judas,' the voice echoed. 'You should see that being a pet isn't so bad.'

Anderson wanted to retaliate. In any other situation, he would have the room covered in a Holy Barrier, and the damned monster would have been decapitated twice over by now. The walls would be soaked in blood, both righteous and unclean. Unfortunately, all he had the strength to do now, was to sit and listen.

With an almost waifish air, Alucard phased through the right wall of the infirmary recovery room, and stood nearly a foot away from the side of the fallen Paladin's bed. Anderson refused to turn his head and look at the menacing creature. It was embarrassing enough being nannied by his enemies, he simply didn't have the energy to waste on a zealous back-and-forth with the Demon. Not yet, at least.

'What a sight, indeed. Powerful, Holy, Righteous Father Alexander Anderson. Reduced to nothing more than a simpering, weak Catholic dog. I'd venture a bet that you don't even feel the presence of your God anymore, do you?'

'Alucard, I'm warning you.' Integra spat, sternly.

The Vampire crouched down to get a better look at Anderson. His piercing Alizarin stare bore a hole directly into the Paladin's heart, right through the one that had just begun to heal. He felt a deep ache in his chest, and gripped at his shirt.

Alucard chuckled almost gleefully, then stood, pacing himself as he made his way over to his Master.

'You really think that this Vatican mongrel is worth even the slightest amount of your attention, Master?'

'It's of no importance to you, Alucard. Mind yourself.'

He smirked.

'As you wish.' The agreement came in a painfully condescending tone.

Alucard crossed his long, lithe arms and smiled wickedly at the suffering Holy Man. 'By the by, Judas. Those seals suit you unbelievably well.' And with that, he phased through the floor.

Anderson grunted to himself and pushed the sleeves back down over his marks. He hid his hands under the blanket in shame.

'Leave me.' He managed, through gritted teeth. 'I nee'tae be alone.'

'Very well,' Integra agreed. She cast her icy stare over him once more, and he felt it in every fibre of his being. There was something about this woman that made him so incredibly uneasy. 'Should you need anything at all, don't hesitate to use the call button on the side of your bed.'

As the flaxen-haired Knight turned to leave, her manservant followed. She was halfway through the threshold of the sliding glass door as she turned around one last time, almost as though she had forgotten a very important detail of a speech.

'And Alexander,' she said with only the hint of a smile upon her lips, 'Don't go trying to set yourself on fire again.'