Long Time Gone

Note: Takes place before the events of the xxxholic series proper.

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He was fully aware that she knew he was coming before he even arrived. The witch always did. He ignored the cheerful prattle of her little dolls as they came out to greet him, waving them off as he rematerialized himself into the house.

"Good evening, darling Count. Care for some plum wine and fox spirit oden?"

"Would only that this were a visit for pleasure," he replied, matching the mixture of amusement and sensuality that fairly dripped from the woman's tone as he looked her over. The usual elaborate clothing, if updated from the last time they'd met, and long dark hair bound up and cut to frame eyes as red as his own. The dimension witch had always been easy to look at, and now was no different.

"Business then. How very disappointing. It's been so long since you've come to visit me for any reason at all, and then you show up wanting to talk shop," she sighed dramatically, setting aside her cup and pouting a little. "I suppose I'll have to be on my best behavior, then, won't I?"

He watched appreciatively as she unfolded herself gracefully from her seat. Indeed, were he here for any other reason, he might have acted on the flare of desire her presence created, as he had several times before. But while she may have broken most of the seals, Sir Hellsing still held the reins, and his mistress had been in a rather sour mood since the end of events in London. Still, he made no effort to push the dimension witch away when she pressed close, and tilted his head down in a mockery of a lover's affection.

"There are mysteriously no longer dead Iscariots up and about, dear witch, and I know full well you had something to do with it," he cooed too sweetly in her ear, enjoying the breathy chuckle he got in return.

"You would be right, darling Count," she replied, her smile sharp and a little smug. "But I'll have you know that the woman Wolfe was a legitimate and paying customer, so your mistress has no juridiction on me."

"I don't doubt that." He couldn't resist just a little taste after so long since the last time he'd seen his sometimes enemy and former lover, and grazed his tongue over a bare shoulder as he drew his hand up her spine, earning a low sound almost like a purr. "What did she pay?"

The woman tsked chidingly and drew nails down his neck just hard enough to leave welts that healed instantly and made him shiver. "You of all people know better than to ask me such a thing."

"Perhaps. She must have paid well, for you to go to such effort. The doll bodies are perfect replicas. And I believe death has matured that brat Maxwell a bit."

"If you absolutely must know, I did owe their little group a favor or two, but that's all you get. And you know you'd be so painfully bored without them to be a thorn in your side," she teased as she ran fingers through his hair, and he chuckled.

"I will admit that much, true. It was very dull between the time the war ended and the Paladin's reappearance." He was loath to let her go, but pulled his hands to his sides as she moved out of his grasp. Then he looked around. "Your home is not as spotless as I remember last. Did your little assistant finally grow weary of your...interesting characteristics?"

She practically giggled as she picked up her cup again and drained it in one long pull. "Hardly," she replied as she picked up the bottle and poured herself another. "He completed his terms of service. But I'll be getting a new one soon." She grinned, watching him over the rim of her cup as she took a seat. "A young one this time."

He smirked, then reached out and stole the cup from her hand. "You always do manage to find a replacement," he replied as he took the smallest sip of the wine. "You'll have to introduce us."

"Eventually." She waved her hand dismissively at the notion and swiped her cup back. "Are you sure you can't stay? It has been a long time."

"As much as I would love to properly ravish you, dear witch, I must restrain myself and be content with the information I've been given."

Her eyes sparkled mischeviously and her grin sharpened. "In such a hurry to get back to your pretty little mistress, are you? I would like to meet such a woman that could keep you on so tight a leash."

"Perhaps you'll get your chance." His grin matched hers in edge, and he reached out again, this time to take her empty hand instead of her cup, which he lifted to his lips. "While our time's been short, it's time I took my leave, dear witch."

"Visit more often, darling Count. And I would prefer that the next time you come to see me, it's less about deals."

"Of course," he replied as he grazed lips further up her arm, then pulled away. "I look forward to it."

This time, he left by the front door, acknowledging the dolls by letting them tug at his arms and ruffling their hair. Putting his glasses on, he produced a pack of cigarettes from his coat and slipped one in his mouth. He paused briefly at the first streetlight to look back at the empty lot where a house had been, then chuckled quietly as he turned to head for the airport.

"Until next time, dearest Yuuko."


It was only a short hour since he had left the witch's presence that he boarded the privately chartered plane to return home and inform his mistress that the issue of the Iscariots' "resurrection" had been taken care of. As they tended to do more and more often, his memories pervaded his dreams as he closed his eyes and 'slept' for the journey. But unlike before, his thoughts were of much more pleasant things than his encounters with his mistress' forbearer.

Instead, he saw in his mind's eye, clearly as the evening it had happened, the appearance of the captive supposed servant girl flung at his feet by those willing to appease his newly gained and terrifying power. No one had known who she was, or where she came from, or even a name. He had been fascinated from the first moment by those dark blood eyes and darker hair, pale flesh, and a pulsing energy so unique from his own that had drawn him deeper, and rather than killing her outright as he tended to do with his 'sacrifices', he had taken her to bed.

She had been more experienced than she looked, and he remembered well the body of a virgin and the talented hands and mouth of a courtesan. He shivered at the memory of the feel of her lithe, almost delicate frame beneath him, the whisper of her hair across his skin as they moved, and the sounds she made as he claimed her and marked her. He had reveled in her, even restraining himself from draining her, just to have her longer.

And she had come so close to killing him.

That was a less pleasant memory, the agonized pain as she touched off some spell that her nails had somehow etched into his skin without his realizing it. He remembered tumbling to the floor in anguish, feeling as though his flesh were burning. And then, as the pain faded, the feel of fingertips delicately stroking his temples, soothing the fire.

"Sleep, vampire," she had purred so sweetly. "Sleep and rest in the haze of false death."

He had reached for her then, to do what, he could no longer remember. But she had allowed him to pull her close to straddle his lap, and had drawn him up to pillow his head on her chest, running her fingers through his hair as though he were a child.

He had woken the next day to an empty room, with a mind clearer than he could ever remember it being, full of the knowledge of who had brought her and who was plotting against him. And it was after they'd all been slain, as he stood amongst the drained and decimated corpses, that he saw her again, standing at the edge of the commons with an indecipherable smile on her face and a simple robe wrapped around her.

"Who are you?" he had demanded, but the smile had only grown wider, and she had moved forward, making her way around the bodies with grace more befitting a queen than a servant.

"If you must know," she had replied as she held out her arms and he was unable to keep from reaching out and snaring her close. "I only have what name I choose."

It was in that moment that he would swear he could see every answer to every question he could have asked in those eyes, and he craved her more than ever. He would have given her anything right then, to have that sort of power to mingle with his own. But even as he covered her mouth again and crushed her body to his, eager to ravish every inch of her, he knew it was a hopeless thought. At best, they were equals. At worst, she was far more powerful than he.

But she was willing. She had spared him, he didn't care the reason, and she offered herself to him then. And amongst the corpses and the birds come for them, he had taken that offering, driving his fangs into her pretty neck with a groan of ecstacy at her taste. When he had finally forced himself to pull free, she had not protested as he swept her into his arms to return her to his bed.

As he woke, he gave a faint sound of mixed amusement and pleasure at the memories. Even when she up and vanished one day, as mysteriously as she had come, she was willing, as was he. As they grew in power and she gained and replaced names, he had come across her often. Sometimes as a foe, sometimes as an ally, but always welcome in his arms, even as he had taken and lost brides and been pressed into the service of the Hellsing family. He had revered her and feared her and wanted her, and, if he were completely honest with himself, she had always been a presence even when she hadn't been around; the form he had taken during the war a way to draw on her.

"Perhaps I should introduce them all," he mused to himself absently. After all, while the witch might be interested in who held his leash now, certainly the others would be interested in who could have left such a deep mark then.