Tag: father anderson

@gingerkyuketsuki Here’s what I wrote for what you intended to be a shitpost! I may have written way too much but I don’t care! 😀 


        “You want me to what?”

        Alucard thought he misunderstood. He had to have misheard, misinterpreted what his master was telling him. There was absolutely, certainly, 110% no way that she had just said that to him.

        “I said, I’ve agreed to a proposal from the Iscariot organization. For the next week, you and the Father, Alexander Anderson, are going to be changing places.”

        “And what, if I might ask, is the purpose of this… Endeavour?”

        Sir Integra pushed up her glasses, picking up the sheaf of papers in front of her, clearly emblazoned with the wax seal of the Vatican. “It’s to…”

        She let out an aggravated sigh. “To ‘teach mutual respect amongst the organizations, to allow our various operatives…’”

        She pointed at Alucard. “’To experience each others’ roles and duties so that they may form a more proper understanding and mutual deference, for the sake of cooperation in the future.’”

        The disgust emanating from his master was thick enough to be cut with a knife. Integra continued.

        “These come signed and sealed from Pope Francis himself, signed in duplicate by Bishop Enrico Maxwell, and counter-signed and sealed by Queen Elizabeth and Sir Irons. Like it or not, you’re participating in this. You’ve been sworn in absentia that you are not to harm a single Iscariot operative. Anderson has been sworn to the same.”

        Alucard moved to complain, but decided against it. He grinned, prompting a concerned look from Integra.

        This could be fun.

        It was not fun. Alucard found himself assuming not just Anderson’s roles, but his dress. He was forced into the same godawful priest’s uniform-jacket combo that the Paladin wore. All of the clothes had been sized for Anderson, so they fit, but barely. The waistline was entirely too big and the elbows on the jacket chafed. And he was told his hat had to stay at the Manor! The No-Life King, nearly 600 years old, most powerful being in the world, wasn’t even allowed to have his favorite hat as he assumed the priest’s position for a week.

And the duties he had… It wasn’t just the fun stuff, killing heretics and pagans in the name of the Holy Catholic Church.

        Alucard also had to assist in running the day-to-day of St. Ferdinand’s Orphanage, including balancing finances, cleaning if necessary, and taking care of the orphans.

        The orphans.

        Alucard had been there for less than a day before the children began getting on his nerves. The adolescents were less irritating. They didn’t know the specifics of this exchange program, but they understood that this tall, raven-haired man was supposed to be Anderson’s replacement for a week, and they treated him with a mixture of respect for his priestly position, and fear because he’s a nearly seven-foot tall, quiet man whose eyes are just slightly off. He had a modicum of respect for the adolescent orphans, since they stayed out of his way.

        But the younger children… The vampire prided himself, deservedly or not, on his patience. He didn’t typically have a problem with children. But these ones, they could certainly try his patience.

        The first day, the main problem was their constant pestering. “Whewe’s Fathew Andewson?”

        “Why are you so tall? Do you play basketball??”

        “Your eyes are pretty! But scary!”

        “The new priest scares me!”

        “Can I have a piggyback ride?”

        “I found this doggie out in the garden, can I keep it?” A raccoon, it was a fucking raccoon, no of course you can’t keep it!

        The next couple of days, what irritated him was the childrens’ tendency to get into EVERYTHING.

        Timothy somehow got a marble stuck in his nose. Nisha had been playing with rubberbands and had accidentally knocked over a vase, breaking it. Lilith (he savored the irony of an orphan in a Catholic orphanage bearing the name Lilith) had been playing with matches again (AGAIN?!) and started a small but manageable fire. Jack had been playing “army men” again and had gotten into an altercation with three other children who pretty much took care of the problem themselves.

        All of which he had been forced to deal with.

        The children also had a habit of pulling at the vampire’s hair, attempting to climb up his arms, requesting more piggyback rides because he was so tall and they could see everything from his shoulders!

        Some of the more clueless adolescents had challenged him to a game of basketball, but wisely backed down when Alucard stood to his full height and could nearly reach the rim without jumping.

        And the Orphanage’s finances! By the grace of whatever higher power might exist, Alucard swore he had never seen a more chaotic budget in his unlife. Constant fees for caterers, cleanup, salaries, maintenance, clothing budgets, medical bills, supply fees, the ASTOUNDING electricity and water bills, the list went on. And he hadn’t the slightest damn clue what he was doing, trying to go over that budget.

        It was almost a relief to hear, four days into the exchange program, that he would be sent into the deepest part of the American South, under the supervision of agents Yumiko and Heinkel, to hunt down a group who attacked a cathedral. At least now Alucard could take out several days of pent-up frustration on whatever poor unfortunate souls made the mistake of pissing off the Catholic church.

        Alucard could only hope the Paladin was having as awful a time himself.

        He would’ve been very disappointed.

        Sure, it was true that the Regenerator hated having to work alongside the Protestant Anglican Church who, under literally any other circumstances, would’ve been his sworn enemy. Certainly, he hated being removed from his uniform and placed in the too-tight red jacket and oversized red hat which he felt made him look ridiculous. And more than anything did he hate having to conduct business in the presence of the little blonde Draculina whom he wanted more than anything to carve with his bayonets and send her to God.

        But other than that, it wasn’t that bad.

        Training the Wild Geese was far simpler than helping to raise some of the little kids at the Orphanage. God bless their little souls, Anderson cared for them, but he sorely needed a break from some of their antics.

        Conversing with Sir Integra and assisting her in her duties was not at all out-of-place from helping the higher-ups at the Orphanage.

        The most welcome bit of familiarity was being sent out into the field to kill vampires and ghouls. Much to his joyful surprise, those duties didn’t change. Outside of the Manor, and in the field, he was allowed to resume his carving-up of the legions of Hell just like he preferred.

        Anderson even learned a bit of respect for Seras, as he saw that despite her vampiric nature, she kept herself under extreme control and never succumbed to her natural bloodlust. He still wanted to carve out her heart with a knife, but now he’d do so with a knowing nod and the knowledge that perhaps her soul would find a teeny bit of salvation in the afterlife.

        When the week ended, Anderson was more than respectful to those who had been his coworkers for the past seven days, regardless of how he still felt about all of them.

        Alucard and the Vatican officials had arrived at the door. Integra could tell from the look on his face that the past 168 hours had not been kind to the vampire. He stood at his full height, looking directly into Anderson’s eyes.

       Without so much as a “Hello” or a “How was your week” or a “Go fuck yourself,” Alucard grabbed the hat off the top of Anderson’s head before placing it on his own.

        “My hat.” Was the only thing he had to say to the Paladin, who otherwise offered some statement to the effect of having a newfound respect for the vampire and the rest of the Hellsing Organization.

        As the Papists departed, Alucard looked at his master, who stared up at him expectantly.

        “Well, Alucard? How was it?”

        “That… Human, is stronger than I’ve ever thought.”

I don’t know if the request thing is still open but could I request an Anderson x reader type thing of the SFW variety?if it is and if you are okay with that ?

Thank you for requesting this and talking through what kind of scenario you wanted in particular! I hope this is to your enjoyment!

        Some days were… Harder than others. Not always for a reason. Sometimes you just felt like this.

        Today had been absolutely miserable. Nothing happened. But the crushing emptiness, the sadness, the self-hatred. It was too much. You hadn’t even left your room, not even when one of the orphanage’s nuns came in to check on you. They understood when you felt this way, you had explained your depression to them before. And they were always quick to say a prayer for you.

        Anderson, your love, was away on a mission.

        You didn’t always feel this way when he was gone, but it always made things so much harder to deal with. He’d been gone for three days by now. Why now? Why couldn’t you hold on until he got back?        

        It was dark now. You lay curled up in your room in the staff building next to the orphanage. You hadn’t really bothered turning on any lights, you’d just slept most of the day away. You turned, looking at the little beside clock.

        Half past nine at night. You hadn’t eaten all day, hadn’t had a drink of water either. Your throat hurt. Crying all day without a drop to drink will do that.

        But you just… Couldn’t.

        The handle to the bedroom door rattled, a key turning in the lock. It’s probably just one of the nuns, coming to check on you one last time before bed. You heard the knob turn, the door swinging open slowly. You turned to see who it was, to tell them everything’s okay and that you don’t need anything, but…

There he was. Your shining paladin, the light of the moon reflecting off of his glasses, standing in the doorway with a tray of food and several glasses of water.

        “Anderson?” You muttered. You hadn’t realized your throat was this sore. “I didn’t know you were back.”

        “Ah wasn’t due back fer anothe’ day, but Ah thou’ Ah’d… Hurry up.” He sets the tray on the mattress in front of you, crouching down next to your bed. “Tha sisters told me wha’ ye’ve been goin’ through today. Ah’m sorry Ah couldn’t be back sooner ta help.”

        With that, he embraces you closely, gently running a hand through your hair. He starts praying quietly, as he always does when you’re having days like this. Asking for the light of the Lord to guide your path, to help you through this time of trial. It always helped, either from the prayer itself, or just hearing his lovely voice as he prays over you. You couldn’t help hugging him back. You really missed Anderson, always did whenever he went off to God-knows-where on duty to the Vatican.

        But here he was, right now, his arms wrapped around you in a tight bear-hug as he continued to pray. After a few moments, he pulled away from the hug.

        “Mah love, ye know Ah’ll always be here fer ye, don’t ye?”

        You nodded. You knew he meant it, even though sometimes it was easy to forget that when you were having days like this.

        “An’ Ah’ll do all in mah power as an agent o’ God to help ye feel better.” He hugged you tightly one more time, before planting a kiss on your forehead.

        “Now, mah dear, please eat. Fer me. Ye haven’t had nary ae bit o’ food today.”

        You thanked him, tucking into the meal he brought for you. It was your favorite, and always helped to make you feel a bit better when you were depressed.

        The food was delicious, though your stomach still felt heavy. The relatively small meal still made you feel full. But you cleaned your plate, drained the several glasses of water. Anderson slid a chair beside your bed while you ate, and without a word stands up and moves the tray onto the end table next to the window.

        As you lay back in bed, he continues to keep his loving vigil over you. He gently takes your hand as he knows you enjoy, and begins to hum a church hymn to help you sleep. You know he’s tired himself, but yet he still takes care to comfort you and make sure you’re okay.

        While you begin to drift off to sleep, you quietly thanked God for giving you such a loving, adoring man to help you through this.

Hey I mean if you offer it, I’m happy about any Anderson scenario. SFW or NSFW whatever you prefer. But only if you want to write it haha. :D

Hey! Thank you for sending this ask, and for working out specifics with me! This scenario went a bit longer than I’d expected, so I hope you enjoy!

This is going to be buried under a cut, not because it’s NSFW, but because there’s themes of jealousy and a Yandere!Anderson, which might not be everyone’s cup of tea. Please heed the warning if you’re sensitive to stuff like this.

Anderson loved his partner. They were sweet, wonderful with the children of the orphanage, their knowledge of the Bible nearly rivalled his own. That was why he worried about them constantly.

Not about their safety, oh no. The orphanage sat comfortably near the Vatican, one of the most heavily-defended locations in the world. His partner’s safety would be guaranteed.

No, what worried him was losing them to someone else.

The priest was getting on in age, that much was true. Though his regeneration kept him looking younger, he was no longer the energetic youth he used to be. Perhaps they’d want someone their age, who would be able to keep up with them when he no longer could. Maybe they’d be looking for someone who didn’t kill for the Vatican, who wasn’t such a dangerous individual.

These thoughts troubled him constantly, drawing his mind away from more immediate tasks. More than once had he been in the middle of a mission, a thousand miles away from the Vatican, and his thoughts had gotten consumed with the thought of his beloved being cradled in someone else’s arms, his own self all but forgotten in his absence.

Anderson prayed for guidance, all the time. He prayed more for this than he’d prayed for anything else in his life. Eyes filled with tears, he’d walk the gardens of the orphanage, or standing behind the pulpit after mass, or seated on his bed, hands clenched together tight enough to rip his gloves, chanting the same prayer under his breath. He’d ask for God’s grace and guiding hand to lead him through these trying times, to find the faith in his partner he so desperately needed. It never seemed to really help, these thoughts were always on his mind.

He never told his partner how he felt, how worried he was that he’d lose them. God’s Assassin, the Angel Dust, the Regenerator, could not summon up the courage to talk through this with his partner.

Things got worse when the new student priest arrived. He was their age, far more beautiful than Anderson. Clean-shaven, hair as red as a cherry. His voice was even more beautiful.

And he was getting entirely too close to them.

It started innocently enough. The occasional lingering glance from the scarlet-haired priest, lasting just a little too long when Anderson’s partner walked away. Then came the gifts, anonymous presents of flowers. They assumed the gifts were from Anderson, but the priest knew the truth.

Then it was the talking, the offers of dinner. They were too innocent to know what the scarlet-haired priest was alluding to, they were far too naive to think he meant anything other than an innocuous lunch.

The final straw for Anderson was the kiss. The red-haired priest, tired of their naivety, stole a kiss in the garden at dusk. Anderson had seen through the window of his room. His partner backed away, flustered, excused themselves before fleeing into the building. That would not happen again. He’d make sure of it.

His partner was his, nobody else’s.

Just as quickly as the cherry-haired priest had arrived, he’d vanished. Bishop Maxwell explained, in the company of Anderson and his partner, that the young student priest had been excommunicated and exiled from the Vatican, though he was remarkable scarce on details. He didn’t relent anything further when pressed for why the priest was excommunicated.

But Anderson knew the truth.

In the middle of the night, Anderson and Maxwell, accompanied by a small cadre of Iscariot guards, had entered the young priest’s room. Maxwell read him the charges, a lengthy list of pure lies, enumerating sins ranging from selling indulgences, to heresy, to the sin of fornication. The young priest dropped to his knees, begging for forgiveness, begging the church officials to see that these charges were untrue. But they didn’t listen.

Of course, the guards didn’t know the truth, but Maxwell did. Maxwell, Anderson’s closest confidant, the only one who knew how Anderson felt about his partner. The Bishop understood entirely, and was willing to grant this favor to his old friend.

In the darkest hour of the night, they’d transported the priest to a bridge, overlooking the deepest body of water near the Vatican. Though bound and gagged, the priest screamed, terrified. They’d tied his legs to a concrete block. Anderson sighed, praying. Praying for the young priest’s soul to find salvation in the afterlife, mostly, before burying one of his bayonets in the cherry-haired priest’s chest.

The terrified student priest grew silent, and they threw his body into the river as though it were garbage to be dumped. Anderson cleaned his blades as the Iscariot members cleaned up the blood.

He’d do it again, if he had to. Nobody was going to be with his partner but him.

Nobody.

Things you think each Hellsing and Iscariot Member would like about me? XD

I understand you might have been joking, but you’ve been such a good friend since I met you that I couldn’t resist answering this one first.

Integra:

Definitely your honesty and genuine personality. You seem like someone she could trust which is something she needs in her life.

Alucard:

Respects your resolve. Your unwillingness to give up and embracing of whatever life gives you is impressive to him.

Seras:

Loves your chipper attitude and politeness, you remind her of herself.

Walter:

Respects the way you help and care for others, reminds him of the person he knows he should be.

Pip:

Wholeheartedly enjoys your sense of adventure, which meshes with the worldliness of a traveling mercenary like himself.

Father Anderson:

Is enamored by your spirituality and seeming willingness to consult or work with a higher power for support in your life.

Enrico Maxwell:

Jealous of the self-confidence you have, aspires to having that level of self-belief without others worshipping him.

Heinkel:

Admires your fighting spirit, like Alucard, she highly respects your refusal to submit to unfortunate circumstances.

Yumiko:

She likes your hair.

Hellsing: Forest Fire Part 3

This part is going to be quite a bit longer than usual. It’s also where I’ve got the first divergence from canon events, mostly because I wanted an excuse to write an interaction with everyone’s favorite Frenchman. Hopefully you all enjoy!

Claude didn’t get enough sleep these days. He had been awoken at half past midnight by Walter shaking him awake.

        “Mr. Grey…” The butler’s hand gently grasped his shoulder, shaking him again. “Mr. Grey, Sir Integra requests your presence.”

        Claude begrudgingly opened his eyes.

        Standing before him was a young man, a twisted grin on his face, hands grasping at a bundle of monofilament wire. Spattered with blood, eyes staring into his soul. The young man had Walter’s voice, his grin never leaving as he spoke.

        “Something the matter, Mr. Grey?”

        Claude blinked.

        The young man was replaced with an older man, unmistakably Walter. Far more intimidating, clad in black, sans all of the wrinkles that the Hellsing butler had gathered over the years.

        The soldier froze in place, looking at the figure. As he blinked again, the young man disappeared, replaced by the form of the elderly assistant to the Hellsing Organization. Claude let out a sigh of relief.

        “No, no Walter. Everything’s fine, thank you. You…” He looked up again. “Integra’s asking for me?”

        “That’s correct. It’s an emergency. She said to tell you it has the potential to be a ‘repeat of Belgium.’ She said to bring yourself, armed, to the helicopter pad as soon as you please.”

        The soldier was justifiably alarmed at this. He threw the sheets away as though they were trying to kill him. He bolted to the closet, within which lay his uniform and guns. Not even caring about Walter’s presence, not worried about waking his roommate, he stripped from his pajama clothes and pulled on his battledress as quickly as he could manage, grabbing the Karmina shotgun and his sidearm as he rushed out of the room.

        Him being called, without the rest of Squad 17, could only mean that Alucard was tied up elsewhere. Claude’s minor precognition and skill behind a shotgun meant that he was often picked as Sir Integra’s bodyguard when the vampire was indisposed.

        It was a hell of a run to the helipad. It sat comfortably atop the Manor’s fourth storey, which meant a lot of stair-climbing to do. In thirty kilos of gear.

        Claude hated stairs.

        He exited the door onto the helipad at a full run, hopping into the already-running Westland Wessex helicopter. Sir Integra and another guard sat across from him, her second bodyguard seated in the seat next to his own.

        “Ah, Mr. Grey. Apologies for the short notice. A situation has arisen in the town of Badrick, in Northern Ireland. Another ghoul army, sired by another vampire. It seems an agent of the Vatican has been sent to quell the situation, as has our Alucard and the Police Girl.”

        Claude was more than a little confused. Why’re we needed, then?

        “Judging from the look on your face, you’re wondering why we need to lend assistance. This agent of the Vatican is none other than Alexander Anderson. While not a vampire, he is every bit the expert in combat that Alucard is.”

        Oh. That’s why. Alexander Anderson was practically a boogeyman. Nobody outside of their top-level contacts in MI5 could find any information on the man. But there’d been plenty of rumors. Especially of the clean-up necessary after the Paladin Anderson entered the field.

        “I see. You want us to stop them fighting, then, Sir Integra?”

        She nodded wordlessly. Claude swallowed thickly, nervous. He adjusted his glasses with a gloved hand, holding tightly onto his gun with the other hand.

The air in the helicopter was tense with anticipation. Nobody needed precognition to know that this endeavor had the potential to end very badly.

Luckily, all Claude needed to do was stick by Integra’s side. Integra. Walter!

“Sir Integra, there’s something I need to tell you.”

“Yes, what is it?” She looked curious.

“I… Uh… Y’know, it’s nothing. Just a feeling I had, that’s all.” He couldn’t bring himself to say the feeling he had was about Walter. Integra kept her eyes on him for a few moments, but nodded.

“Yes, I see. Let me know if you see anything.”

Claude let out a quiet “mmhmm.”

The rest of their flight to Northern Ireland was in silence. They approached the building to which Alucard and Seras had been sent.

Oh damn. It looked to be a school. The Westland Wessex set down in the courtyard outside, and the four armed individuals hopped out. Claude took a position in front and to the right of Integra, and the two remaining bodyguards walked ahead. Even through the din of the helicopter’s engine, they could hear a silence in the building that was wholly uncharacteristic of wherever Alucard ventured.

That wasn’t a good sign.

The two suit-clad guards had taken point, drawing their guns and entering the building in advance. Their five-point room scan found nought but dead bodies. Ghouls. They motioned for Claude and Integra to enter.

The soldier kept his shotgun shouldered, pointed down, finger beside the trigger. They heard shouting in the hallway to the right, and the two suits charged in ahead.

Seras was backed against a doorway, Alucard’s headless body in the hallway close by. That’s when Claude saw him.

A beast of a man, blonde hair cut short, clad in a massive beige coat, bearing all the trappings of a Catholic priest. Held in his hands, high above his head, were two… Were those bayonets? He moved, poised to cut Seras down, when Sir Integra fired, shattering the two great knives in his hands.

Anderson turned, a wicked grin on his face. Sir Integra began to speak, Anderson argued, but it was all muffled. Claude couldn’t concentrate. A splitting pain shot through his head, and the world disappeared.

Hellsing Manor, burning, more than a hundred dead. Two burning bodies, brothers. Old enemies from a time long past. An army of ghouls, unlike any seen before, packed in buses. The Council of Twelve meets. A declaration of war.

Claude heard shouting, felt hands grab his shoulder. A voice in his head screamed.

Raise your gun! Fire! Fire!

As if by instinct, he pulled the trigger. The shotgun, fired by one hand, threw him off balance. The deafening roar caught everyone by surprise, the muzzle blast of the gun catching a small portion of the priest’s jacket aflame. In the din of the gunshot, there was a loud CLANG, and two bayonets tumbled to the floor, broken beyond repair.

Claude returned to reality, seeing the bodies of the two other bodyguards in front of him.

Anderson had thrown two bayonets at him, bayonets he couldn’t even have seen. He didn’t even see the fight, just the aftermath. Through the ringing in his ears, he could hear the Paladin chuckling.

“Ahh, ye’re diff’rent! Yessss, not yin ae those blood-suckin’ freaks, but not as normal as yer boss, right?” He grinned further. “The Vatican could use yin ae ye!” He crossed his bayonets.

“If’n ye ever feel like convertin’ from yer Protestant heresy, le’ me know! Be happy to turn ye against the freaks and Protestants, my boy!”

Claude dropped to his knees, suddenly unable to stand under the weight of his gear. The vision had sapped his energy. Alucard started to reform from his dismembered body.

Anderson disappeared in a cloud of Bible paper.

Integra knelt down beside him.

“Claude! What in God’s name happened to you?!” He couldn’t tell if she was furious or concerned. He wanted to go with both.

He panted, gritting his teeth through the subsiding headache from earlier.

“There’s… ha… There’s going to be an attack. On the Mansion. I’ve never felt so certain of a vision in my life.”

        The next several days were a buzz of activity. Sir Integra had been making calls left and right to find a suitable group to act as reinforcement for the Hellsing forces. If anything happened as in Claude’s vision, the mere one hundred men in their current employ would be nowhere near enough. She settled on the highest bidder, a mercenary group based out of Amsterdam. The Wild Geese.

        It had taken a tremendous amount of effort and a lot of favors from the Council of Twelve to get the mercenaries and their materiel through customs and positioned in the Hellsing Manor.

        Today would be “Orientation Day.”

        Integra, Seras, and Claude would be meeting the two-dozen or so mercs in what was ordinarily the South Dining Hall.

        He could already hear their leader talking about how their job would entail fighting monsters, to the laughter of his troops.

        God above, that man has a gorgeous voice~… Claude found himself thinking. He was eager to see the face behind the voice, hoping it was as beautiful.

        He was not disappointed.

        They emerged into the dining hall, and he immediately zoned out as Integra began to speak. The leader of the mercenaries turned to face them, one eye covered by a patch, a bandage across the bridge of his nose. He had incredible long, red hair, tied in a braid that wrapped around his neck and still reached halfway down his back.

        That… Now that’s just asking for fingers in it. Claude quickly turned away, trying to ignore the blush creeping up on his face. Dammit, Christ, no!

        “… highest ranked member of our staff.” He heard Integra finish, gesturing to him. He gulped, turning back and quickly holding his hand up, palm flat, facing the mercenaries.

        “Umm… Hello!”

        There was a smattering of laughter. The lead merc walked over, sizing him up. Claude had to make an effort to look the man in the eye, as Claude was nearly a full head shorter.

        “Zis man is your… ‘ighest ranked soldier?”

        Claude wrinkled his nose at the comment. “Yes, I am!”

        Integra interrupted, placing a hand on the mercenary’s chest. “Mr. Bernadotte…”

        “Ah ah, please, call me Pip.”

        “Pip… Mr. Grey here has served with us for three years. His combat experience may be more… Unorthodox, compared to your own, but he is an invaluable asset to the Hellsing Organization.”

        “Non, madame. I assure you I meant no offense.” Pip extended a hand to the much shorter soldier in front of him. “I was just… ‘ow you say… Ribbing you? I assure you I look forward to working with you.”

        Claude nodded, smiling slightly, and took Pip’s hand in a firm shake.

        “Not to worry, Monsieur Bernadotte, no offense taken. I look forward to… To working with you as well.” Pip returned a smirk at that, then turned to his men and began barking orders.

        Perhaps Seras had noticed the tone of his voice. Maybe it was his smell, or the dreamy look on his face, the way he made eyes at the mercenary leader. She covered her mouth, hiding a smile, prompting a perplexed look from Claude.

        “What?” He crossed his arms. “What’s so funny, police girl?”

        “Oh my God…” She whispered, just loud enough for him to hear. “Oh my God, you’ve got a crush on Monsieur Bernadotte~!”

        Claude quickly bolted upright, eyes widened. He looked to make sure the mercenaries hadn’t heard. If they had, not a one of them made any sign of it.

        “Don’t you fuckin’ tell him!” Claude whispered. She let out a giggle, loud enough that a couple of the Wild Geese looked in their direction. She and Claude quickly turned away.

        Seras grinned wildly. “That’s so cute! Let me…” She giggled again, digging an elbow into Claude’s ribs. “Let me know if you need a ‘wingman.’”

        She walked away, continuing to softly giggle to herself. Claude sighed. He turned around to take another look at Pip. Pip, who was standing with his back facing Claude. Pip, who was… Now bending over to pick up a case of ammo.

        Claude vacated the room.

—-Four days later—-

        Almost four in the afternoon. Claude was looking around the estate, trying to find Pip. He had spent much of the previous two days with his nose buried in a French-to-English dictionary, trying to learn bits and pieces of the language.

        And there he was, in front of a third-storey window overlooking the front courtyard of the Manor. Seated on a large couch, conversing with a pair of his fellow Wild Geese. Smiling, and laughing.

        Hot damn, what a smile…

        He waited, then walked over as the two Wild Geese departed. Pip looked over, giving a smile.

        “Ah, Monsieur Grey. Much pleasure to meet you!”

        Damn, he forgot everything he was going to say.

        Say something, quick!

        “Umm… B-bonjour, Monsieur Bernadotte. C-comment allez-vous?”

        Pip paused, a clear look of surprise on his face. He had not expected the short little blonde man to speak anything other than English. The French mercenary adjusted his hair, then leaned forward, one hand on his knee.

        “Bien, et vous?”

        “Uh… C-c’est bon, je suis magnifique.”

        Pip chuckled.

        “Surely, Monsieur Grey, you ‘ave some ulterior motive, coming to me trying to speak French.”

        “I… Well, I…”

        Pip stared at him expectantly. Claude’s mind went utterly blank, and all that came to mind were the lyrics of an old song. Lyrics which he proceeded to mumble softly, through no will of his own.

        “V-v-voulez-vous coucher avec moi, ce soir?”

        He had never seen a person’s face go red that quickly in his life. He was positive it had to be some sort of record. Pip just stared at him, for what felt like a year but was more likely about a minute or two. He cleared his throat softly, face still beet-red.

        “Zat is… A very old way to say zat. Trying to court someone today, you should say ‘tu aurais envie de faire l’amour ce soir.’ Zat means ‘would you like to make love tonight?’” He smirked. “And traditionally, before you ask zat, you buy zem dinner first.” Pip stood up slowly, chuckling, his face returning to a normal color though still very red. He tousled Claude’s hair, then bent down to talk to him at eye level.

        “Per’aps one night zis week, you and I might have dinner. Zen I’ll consider it. C’est bon?”

        “C-c’est bon…”

        Pip nodded, placing a cigarette between his teeth and walking onward.

        By God, did Claude feel mortified.