Hunting the Hunter

“Do you trust me?”

“What?”

“Do. You. Trust me?”

A barely contained whimper. “No.”

“Then we are done here.”

“No!”

“Mine.”


•••

Christian’s trousers were too loose.

That was not an appropriate thought at all, Walter realized, tearing his eyes away from the other man’s backside and down to the floor. Really, though, it wasn’t his fault, was it? It was right there in front of his face while he steadied a ladder to allow Christian to climb up through the attic trap door, and Walter was a young man with a healthy interest in good tailoring.

Right. That sounded like weak self-justification even to him.

It was the fourth house they’d looked at so far and Walter had to admit that he was getting very bored with the house hunting aspect of helping Richard’s assistant. It was giving him time for his mind to wander in directions he wasn’t really accustomed to allowing it to wander.

It was all that damned dossier’s fault. If he didn’t know that Christian was a homosexual, he wouldn’t be speculating about whether he was wearing such loose trousers on purpose as a kind of camouflage or if he just traveled too much to have a proper tailor.

Nor would he be speculating about what those trousers were covering and whether other men appreciated what Christian–

Right. That had to stop right then and there. This was the way teenage boys’ minds were supposed to be - filled with thoughts of bare skin and its mysteries - not the thoughts of a mature butler and hunter for the Hellsing Organization. It was doubly inappropriate that such thoughts were of another man’s skin and mysteries.

“... up the torch, Walter. Walter?”

Walter blinked and caught up to Christian’s question, passing him the torch before scrambling up the ladder after him. “Sorry, I was thinking about what I need to have done by the end of the week.”

Christian tilted his head at him, a gesture somehow made his features seem less pointed while highlighting the quick mind behind them. “I’m keeping you from your duties. How much trouble is this going to cost you?”

“None.” Walter pushed away the concern. “I have people to delegate to. The nature of my work means that I must, since I never know when I’ll be away or for how long.”

“Of course,” Christian said as he flicked on the torch and brushed at a cobweb before it could catch in his fair hair and get lost. “The work you told me of yesterday.” The torch turned back toward Walter, and Christian went on. “I suppose I have never given much thought to what a monster hunter would look like, but if I had, I don’t think it would be you.”

“Why’s that?” Walter felt himself bristling ever so slightly. What did looks have to do with anything? He’d seen a little girl holding a dead man like a dolly; looks meant nothing.

The light turned away from Walter, leaving him blinking in its absence while Christian wandered deeper into the attic looking for that indefinable something that would have him rejecting this house along with the others. “I suppose I would just picture monster hunters as old and grim and gray and unattractive. Nothing at all like you.”

•••

There is only so much one can really say about property hunting, Walter thought to himself as he and Christian left yet another house that Richard’s assistant had pronounced unacceptable. The goal was to provide Richard with a minimum of three potential residences to choose from, but so far, Christian had rejected the six they had looked at – the walls were too high or too low, there were too many windows or not enough, the kitchen was inadequate, the attic not secure enough from rodents or bats.

One thing made it tolerable – Christian Wallace himself. Today he was crisply pressed and wrinkle-free, even after trudging through attics and poking about in basements, leaving Walter to consider that perhaps it had just been travel that had left Christian rumpled the day before, rather than carelessness.

Now Christian tilted his head at Walter as they got back into the car. “All this pickiness is making me hungry. Can you recommend somewhere?”

It was a measure of some of the things that had been on his mind during the day that Walter’s first thought was the restaurant that Doru had taken him to. He quickly discarded the idea. Just because Christian was a homosexual didn’t mean he wanted to be confirmed as one by going to a place with that sort of reputation.

Wait. But Walter had gone there. Was that some kind of confirmation– ?

Walter cut that thought off with brutal quickness. He had gone without knowing the nature of the establishment.

And stayed after he learned what sort of clientèle it had, his mind went on, refusing to let him hide behind excuses.

It didn’t matter why he had stayed.

Did it matter that he had been dwelling on Christian’s homosexuality and the fact that the man must have had relations with other men and did men kiss like men and women did in the cinema and–

“Walter?” Christian’s voice cut through the uncomfortable self-realization and brought Walter back to the here and now. “Is something wrong?”

Walter shook his head as much to clear it as to answer the question. “No. I apologize. I was just thinking of likely restaurants,” he lied, not proud of himself that it was his second lie of the day. “Would you prefer something more formal or just a quick stop at a pub that has food?”

Christian looked vaguely wistful as he answered. “Take me somewhere with good pie and mash. I haven’t had a decent lunch since I left England.”

Walter’s mind wouldn’t let his train of thought go, though. Was that why you dreamed of Doru? it whispered as he pulled away from the curb to take them to the restaurant.

•••

Walter was determined to put uncomfortable contemplations of his sexuality aside until he had time to consider them in private. “Tell me more about Richard,” he asked after the waiter had taken their orders and disappeared the way a good waiter should. “I know what he likes in a house now, I think, but what is he like to work for?”

“Richard?” Christian gave that a moment’s thought before smiling. “He’s brilliant. I mean that all ways. He’s very intelligent, very driven, and I’ve learned so much working for him.”

He picked up his napkin and unfolded it, placing it in his lap before picking it up again and refolding it, apparently restless. “He’s practical. Things that matter to other people don’t matter to him. That’s why I work for him. I’m good with the details he thinks are important and I don’t get in his way; that’s what matters more than anything I might do outside my duties.”

Or anyone, Walter wisely didn’t add.

“How did you come to work for him?” he asked instead. “I saw that your employment began in Hungary, but not how you managed to find employment with another Englishman there.”

“I went to Budapest in 1947 with a,” Christian paused for the barest moment, “a friend. He was concerned for his family and wanted to get them out to England before the elections, since it looked as though the communists would win that time. While he fought with them, our friendship grew strained. They didn’t like me, they didn’t want to go to England. It was a frightful scene. I spent most of my time out on my own....” His eyes looked elsewhere for a moment and Walter wondered at the slight flinching around his eyes before he waved a hand as though waving away something unpleasant and went on with his story.

“It came to a point after a month where I simply had to leave and go home without my friend or his family. I was in the consulate office arranging my papers when I first heard Richard.” Now he smiled, looking truly amused rather than troubled. “I’m surprised that all of Budapest didn’t hear him that day. He was furious over some problems with import tariffs and the clerk looked nearly ready to faint under the pressure. I stepped in and offered to help, and the rest, as they say, is history.”

Walter wondered at the details that were missing from the story - about the friend, about why the friend’s family didn’t like him, about what had caused that flinching while Christian remembered Budapest. He was tempted to ask, but Christian hadn’t volunteered, and this was a new friend; he didn’t want to ruin things by hamhandedly pushing for details the other didn’t want to give.

“Tell me what didn’t satisfy you about the houses we looked at today. I’ll try to get a better list for tomorrow.”

•••

Walter steered the car into the circular drive in front of Christian’s hotel and parked, waving away an over-eager valet before he turned in his seat to face the other man.

“Tell me again why you’re staying here instead of at Hellsing?”

Christian smiled and tipped his head at Walter in a way that Walter was fast coming to consider most engaging. “At first it was because I thought I would have a bit of a vacation – time to myself instead of always waiting for Richard’s next call.” After a quick glance around to ensure that the valets weren’t paying too close attention to them, he leaned fractionally closer to Walter across the bench seat. “Now I think it is to avoid temptation.”

Walter found his mouth suddenly dry. Oh yes, he understood the concern of temptation better than he would have thought possible not so long ago. He very nearly found his voice to offer Christian more than just temptation, but the man grinned and reached for the door handle. “But if temptation were to find me once I have a flat of my own without nosy bellboys or valets or maids to tell tales, I would welcome temptation in with open arms.”

Walter caught himself and was out of the car and around at Christian’s door to open it for him before he could finish his motion to do it himself. He bent to murmur to Christian as the man slid out of the car, “Tomorrow then, let us add a few flats for you to our list of properties to visit.”

•••

Christian was smiling as he unlocked his hotel room door and let himself in. The day had gone perfectly. Richard should have suitable accommodations and office space waiting for him by the time he arrived, and if Christian had made a friend of Walter, that was just how things should be as well.

A cold voice interrupted his thoughts, straightening his back and stiffening his posture with a single word: “Well?”

He slowly turned toward the speaker, his smile dropping away as he sought out the figure in the shadowed corner farthest from the door. Even the shadows didn’t conceal the white hair that flowed over the tall man’s shoulders, wild and almost restless, as though it would move on its own.

“Is he receptive?”

Well, hello, nice to see you, too. Can I get you a drink? Maybe some manners? Despite the fact that those words crossed Christian’s mind, he would rather swallow his own tongue than say them aloud. In fact, considering what was in his hotel room, he was probably best off not even thinking them too loudly.

Instead he schooled his tone to politeness and nodded. “I think he is. You know the looks, the smiles, those things. I probably could have gotten a kiss out of him easily tonight if not more.”

Anyone would have flinched from the growl that comment evoked, and Christian did, feeling the blood drain from his face as his heart beat a fearful tattoo in his chest.

“I didn’t do it,” he hurried to clarify. “Not even a touch. I just showed enough interest to get him thinking.”

The questioner glided out of the shadows then to reveal a tall man - taller even than Walter - with that wild white hair and even wilder inhuman red eyes. For all that Christian had questioned Walter’s work for Hellsing, the man had known all along that vampires were real.

“Not. Even. A touch.” He bit off the words as he approached Christian, almost stalking him. “Were you tempted?”

Christian flinched again, taking a step back without even realizing he was doing it. “You said don’t touch. I did exactly what you said. I’m not stupid.”

Not for the first time he regretted the strange circumstances that had brought this creature known to him only as Mr. de Ville into his life. He should never have gone to Hungary. He should never have taken to leaving his lover to walk alone in darkened post-war streets. His life would be so different if he had never done those things. He had never wanted to get mixed up in the supernatural. He didn’t even enjoy fiction, let alone this gothic horror his life had turned into. Still, life in a gothic horror was better than no life at all, or half-life as one of this creature’s slaves.

“Not stupid,” Christian’s unwanted master echoed, leaning in toward him as though to smell a lie on him. Or perhaps to try to smell Walter on him.

Christian’s heartbeat sped with a sudden frisson of terror. What if the vampire smelled Walter’s cigarette smoke on him and misinterpreted?

“Give me your hands.”

Christian blinked dully at the order before holding out his hands, fighting to keep them from shaking. He didn’t think he was any more cowardly than the next man, but he had no illusions of courage in the face of this monster. He had seen what happened to those Mr. de Ville wanted to hurt and he would do anything to keep from being next. Even give Walter to him, if that was what it took.

De Ville took Christian’s hands in his own cold hands and raised them to his face, drawing in a deep breath, taking in the history written on them in scent, finally breathing, “Not even a touch.”

The man almost sagged with relief before de Ville used the hold on his hands to tug him against the taller man’s body. “But you wanted to,” the monster growled. “Don’t lie to me. I can smell it on you.”

Christian tried to find a way to answer the accusation that wasn’t a lie and which also wouldn’t get him killed. “I have to want him at least a little to be able to fulfill your orders. The best lies have some truth?” He was fighting not to stammer, struggling to stay reasonable as those hellish red eyes glared down at him. “But I would never disobey you.”

There. Truth. He fought not to tremble while the vampire’s eyes narrowed in consideration.

“You would never disobey me.” de Ville’s lips twisted as though the words had tasted vile to him. “You don’t serve me because you wish to. You serve me because you are afraid.”

How was he supposed to answer that? It was the truth. He just didn’t believe that anyone, not even Hellsing’s monster hunters could protect him from de Ville. The vampire owned him as surely as if Christian truly wanted to be his cat’s paw. Better to just stay silent.

De Ville nodded as though Christian had given him the answer he wanted. His lips twisted again, now into a smile that made Christian’s stomach clench painfully.

“You have my permission to want him.” The vampire released Christian’s hands and the man thought he’d navigated another dangerous encounter with his master. Then he spoke again, his smile showing so many razor teeth that Christian barely kept himself from running: “But he is as much mine as you are; he just doesn’t know it yet.”

De Ville’s hands clamped down on Christian’s biceps so hard that there would definitely be bruises. “I’ll just mark you for your own protection.” He used his hold on Christian to drag him toward the bed. “If he sees you without clothes, he won’t want you anyway.”

•••

“Well?” Arthur tapped his pen on his desk blotter and grimaced as it spat ink out to soak into the heavy paper.

Cradling the telephone while he moved documents out of the way and blotted the ink, he focused on the crackling voice of Gérard Bernadette. “What did you learn about Wallace?”

“Nothing his dossier didn’t already tell us except that he had a habit of stealing fruit pies off his grandmother’s window sill when he was a boy,” Bernadette said after a rustle of paper from the other end of the phone line. “His grandmother’s neighbor still remembers that. She said she put her pies to air on a second floor sill because of him. ‘A good boy other than that. Always swept the walk without being asked.’ Meaningless, in other words. He’s clean. There’s no other way your brother could have gotten him to keep his clearance with his being a poof and all.

“We have him under constant surveillance. Followed him today while he was out with your butler. They looked at houses and offices and had a late lunch. I had a man in the restaurant near them. They talked and agreed to meet again tomorrow to look at more properties and dinner after.”

There was a pause and the sound of Bernadette drawing on a cigarette. “He’s been alone in his room ever since. The lights didn’t go on after dark. No room service. Nothing else to report. I’ll report if there is.”

“Do that,” Arthur said before hanging up, frowning to himself. He should be happy to hear that everything was checking out perfectly. It probably wasn’t even Wallace he was feeling this sense of wrongness about – even after all these years, Arthur couldn’t bring himself to feel comfortable about the thought of his older brother returning to England, and more importantly, to Hellsing.
___

AN: It only took me about a year to get this written. Sorry about that. -_- It isn't forgotten by a long shot and I have the next two chapters pretty thoroughly plotted out and hope to get them written soon.