Their caseworker was six feet of tanned skin, lean muscle, and shining teeth that went by the name of Nick. He was all smiles, Gen. Y attitude painted across his features and evident in the tattoos visible beneath the collar and rolled sleeves of his white business shirt. Deliberately mussed hair, two holes in each ear (sans earrings) and a maroon sweater vest visually helping the taper of his torso. He reached out to shake their hands as he introduced himself, gold Rolex glinting in the fluorescent lights.

Seras began to regret being Mrs. Victoria for the umpteenth time in two nights. She briefly considered whether Alucard would protest an annulment of their fake marriage. Most likely. Still, there was no rule saying that a married woman couldn't flirt, was there? Older women did it all the time, and it would pester the living hell out of her 'husband', which was only proper karma for his impatience in the waiting area.

"Nice to meet you," she purred, tilting her head with a look that made even the hardened Captain Bernadotte flush like a schoolboy. She was pleased when the youth turned a dark shade of pink as well, shifting his weight as he grasped her hand and let it go quickly—too quickly. He's uncertain. She smiled inwardly, happy that she still had it after years without practice.

"Yes, and this is…." He trailed off, a spark of hope flickering to life in his eyes. "Your husband?"

"I am." The tone left no room for doubt. Seras noticed his hand tighten punishingly around the caseworker's, but let go before the man had time to notice the pain.

"Pleasure, sir." He subtly shook his hand at his side, the 'strictly business' smile never fading from his lips. "This way, then. I'm sure you're both raring to get started."

"Humph." Alucard allowed her to push her way between the two of them, following Nick down the labyrinth of cubicle walls until they reached an opening just as unassuming as the others.

"In here, please." The seats matched those in the lobby, but without much of the wear and tear. There hadn't been enough rumps pushing down the faux leather to ruin it, and the studs weren't as tarnished without thousands of fingers following them in slow circles as they waited in a hellish queue. She noticed the caseworker's cerise gaze remaining on her, and her alone, as they all sat: they in the two chairs, him across the desk in a mesh office chair that had been forcefully reclined one too many times. "You've got your papers?" he asked, his eyes dropping from her face to the clipboard on her lap.

"Of course; here." She handed them across before crossing her legs at the ankles and resting her hands demurely in her lap. Alucard rested one leg on the other, his fingers lacing as he leaned to brace his left arm on the seat. She peered at him out of the corner of her eye, trying to keep her focus on him and the caseworker simultaneously. He always leaned to the left, she realized after a moment. Is he… is he left-handed? I never thought to pay attention to something like that…. He wielded guns with both hands, but he'd only had the one on the night he'd shot her. Had he had the gun in his left, or his right? She tried to think back, her mind moving sluggishly through the years. It had been so long ago now…. Yet not long at all, was it?

Giving up after thinking for a full five minutes and finding no conclusive evidence in her memories, she turned her mind instead to the study of the man's cubicle. A person's workspace was their home away from home, and much could be gleaned from a few moments of quiet observation. She remembered the crowded desks at D-11 HQ, her teammates' spaces rife with family photos, candy in the drawers, sports team calendars and important events tacked up right next to memos about the newest string of West London murders.

Nick was a fan of the Leicester Lions, apparently. The red-eyed lion leapt at her from a mug of pencils, from a sticker on the filing cabinet, from a pendant adorning the top of his bulletin board. There were papers nearly covering everything but the lion's eyes, unorganized and spilling off the sides of the board. More papers were stacked haphazardly on the CRT screen of the desktop, on the desk itself, on the filing cabinet, sprouting like fronds from the cabinet's top drawer….

A framed image—not a photo, a daguerreotype—sat next to the desktop, when it would have been more at home in a museum. It depicted a young woman of perhaps thirty, with a high forehead and tired eyes, long ringlets framing a thin, pointed face. Her collar was starched and glowed whiter than anything else in the frame. It was hard to tell from the angle that her head was turned, but her eyes might have been brown, or (as Seras well knew) a shade of dark red. She wondered if this was his master, or perhaps just a good friend. Former human family?

The caseworker was muttering under his breath in concentration, clicking rapidly with one hand while typing numbers and tabbing between pages with the other. She noticed Alucard watching his movements with a serious, inquisitive stare, eyes flickering between the mouse and what was happening on the computer screen, which was turned at an angle so that they could just see it from their position on the other side of the desk.

"Oh, um—feel free to help yourselves," he muttered absently after a moment, his finger leaving the Tab key to point at a dish on the edge of the desk, scalloped and highly feminine compared to the rest of the décor. Humans usually kept sweets in them, as a sort of sacrifice to guests in exchange for patience. She looked over the rim, expecting peppermints or even a butterscotch caramel.

She found grapes.

Disguising her surprise, she obediently picked one and popped it in her mouth with murmured thanks. She offered another to Alucard, who looked down at her as though he thought her mentally deranged before turning his attention back to the computer. Taking this as a dismissal, she grew irritated. If you're going to be like that, then… she looked at the caseworker, who was now reading over the blood delivery worksheet.

The grape was good, seedless and with a pleasantly wet crunch against her back teeth. The juice filled her with memories of snack time at the police station, healthy alternatives to the chocolate candies Simon would stuff into his face by the handful. Grapes, or apples, a banana. She hadn't had a banana in ages. Wonder if that grocer sells them? She took another grape, hoping that it wasn't rude to do so.

She licked her thumb subtly to get some errant juice off, the flavor rolling across her tongue. Delicious… She became aware of eyes on her and glanced through her eyelashes to see the caseworker enveloped in the computer, clicking rapidly with one hand while holding the paper up to eye level with the other. Her eyes moved back down to her fingers, but she branched out with her third eye. It wasn't something she did often knowingly; usually it was more involuntary, and actually seeking it was akin to a human blinking and being aware of every movement of their lids.

Alucard was giving her the same intense, searching glare that he'd given the computer, eyes locked on her fingers. After a moment, they flitted quickly to the bowl of grapes, a small furrow appearing in his brow. She watched him from her peripherals, pretending not to notice the heavy scrutiny. She gave her thumb one last swipe with her tongue before rubbing it on her jeans, as if to get rid of any last residue. What was his game? Was he watching her, or the grapes? She wondered what furtive thoughts might be going through his mind as well. Was he considering getting a grape? She laughed to herself. Had he ever had grapes before? When was the last time he ate a piece of fruit?

She pretended to just notice him, eyeing him with false puzzlement before again motioning to the grapes. 'Take one', she mouthed. A small, barely perceptible shake of his head was his answer; his nose wrinkled again in distaste. She shrugged. Your loss. He turned away, the furrow deepening. Curious, she bumped her knee against his, the movement unnoticed by the caseworker due to the closeness of their chairs. He turned back to her and she arched a brow. What's wrong? She followed his eyes to the clock on the cubicle wall.

He's taking too long. He didn't need to open his mouth for her to read the nature of the frown. It was almost silly, how well she could still read him though her mind wasn't bridged with his anymore. No, not silly… it was almost scary. It meant that she knew him too well. Still…. She bumped his knee again, conveying with her eyes.

Give him time. She jerked her head at their stack of paperwork. It's a lot. He made a derisive sound in the back of his throat, barely audible.

Not enough to take this long. She knew he must be thinking about Sir Integra, and her never-ending load of paperwork. She offered him an understanding smile, allowing her expression to soften.

Patience. He exhaled, not quite a sigh but still conveying annoyance. He stared at the desk, frown relaxing as he retreated into the confines of his mind. She relaxed as well, amusing herself with the muscles flexing in the caseworker's forearms. Finally, the man finished, double-checked something, placed the mouse aside, and turned to them. He rested his delectable forearms on the desk, the sound prompting both of them into attention. Alucard's legs uncrossed and she leaned forward, chin on her hand.

"Alright, time to get to some real business," he joked, giving them another 1,000 watt smile. He winked at Seras, who grinned, shifting in her seat. Not enough to show interest, but enough to get him to let his guard down. "The house: you found everything in order? Nothing to point out?"

"No, not at all. Everything was perfect." That she could be honest about. Despite the fixing up it needed, she was more than happy with the home. Her only real issue was growing too attached to it, and then having to leave it when the undercover mission was through. But she'd cross that bridge when she came to it (or burn that bridge when she crossed it, as Pip liked to joke).

"Fantastic." As cheesy as the word was in that context, he managed to make it sound truly sincere. "Won-der-ful," he drawled, with another syrupy smile directed her way. Alucard tensed next to her and she reached out without thinking, some instinctive part of her suggesting that he might be getting ready to stand. Her hand fell on his thigh and she froze, barely able to keep the serene expression on her face. Oh, damnit. His hand caught hers in a flash, fingers pressing hers down hard. She didn't dare look his way. The caseworker didn't look either, but his eyes held some measure of disappointment.

"Well, just in case there is any problem, let me give you my card." He dug around the errant stacks of papers and eventually resurfaced with a plain business card, black on white background. She yanked her hand and he reluctantly freed it so that she could reach forward and accept the offering. "You can call that number anytime between 8:00 and 3:00. Extension 0-4-3."

"Thank you." She carefully tucked the card into the inner pocket of her jacket.

"If you want to move at any point, you'll file that motion with me. You'll file most things with me, in fact. Thankfully for you," he joked, "we've got the ability to file most things over the phone and send you copies via post for your signature." He paused, the silence stretching, and then cleared his throat. "Erm, now… Mr. Victoria." A beat passed before Alucard lifted his eyes, and Seras felt the sweat rise on the back of her neck. Pay attention, that's you! "It's time for you to choose an occupation. What was the last position you held?"

She could see the words turning themselves over in his mind, the sides of his mouth turning down more and more with each passing second. She was at a loss for words; what could you call his job at Hellsing? Pest control was too menial. Operative, too vague. To say he worked for the army would be confusing, as Hellsing didn't technically exist in terms of the official militia. He worked for the government?

"Pro bono." She nearly fell out of her seat. That's too clever! Why'd you make it sound like it was illegal?! Those forearms tensed and the caseworker sat up straighter, mouth opening wordlessly before he found his winning smile once more.

"O-oh! And… erm, before that?" Alucard thought, foot tapping.

"Pioneer." Would you stop that!? She barely restrained the urge to jump up and slap a hand across his mouth. He barely tilted his head, as though her words had somehow made it to his mind even without a link. "Pilgrim."

"As in… American?" he stammered, looking helplessly at Seras. She smiled, though she doubted it was as smooth and charming as his.

"No. But I knew an American once." Nick chewed his lip, grabbing for his desk drawer. Seras flinched, thinking he would reveal a gun or call security on Alucard for sounding like a veritable lunatic, but he merely pulled out a tablet and powered it on.

"Okay, let's try something else. What are your skill sets? What level of school did you complete?"

"Excuse me?" Dismissing the man entirely, he turned to Seras with an expectant look.

"He wants to know if you're a university graduate," she explained, trying to keep her patience.

"No." He turned back to Nick.

"Um… what schooling did you complete?"

"Science, philosophy, astronomy, the arts…." He trailed off musingly. "Religion. War tactics. Horsemanship. Archery and swordsmanship. Occult magic, astronomy… mathematics and geography." He shrugged. "I had no time to study after the age of twelve, so it's lacking." Seras's nails bit into her knees as she fought to keep the pleasant expression on her face. Who in the hell lumps occult magic and war tactics in the same pile as science and arithmetic?!

"I… I see." Nick tapped nervously on the tablet's glowing surface. "Erm... here." He handed it over the desk to Alucard. "I think these would be the best positions in town for you to choose from. Look over the list and tell me if you find any you're interested in." He turned back to the computer, his brow furrowing as he snuck glances at them from around the monitor. Alucard looked at the tablet, holding it in both hands before slowly raising it to eye level and looking at the underside. Then, without further ado, he held it out to her.

"Good grief," she mumbled, taking the tablet and scooting as close as she could to the arm of the chair, holding at an angle that he could see before slowly scrolling down the list. He frowned as he read the names off, and let out little grunts when he was ready for her to scroll more. She read with him, gnawing on her lip. Office labor, dispatch director, shareholder, undersecretary, investigative journalist, dental assistant, CFO… she couldn't see Alucard doing any of these!

"What is this?" He pointed to the bottom. COO?

"It's… um… Chief…." She wrinkled her nose, trying to think. "Chief of… no, Chief Officer… it's a businessman," she sighed, giving up. "A COO is in charge of keeping the business running properly."

"That's it." She paused, finger hovering over the blue highlighted letters. COO? Really? She looked up at him, their eyes meeting. Are you sure? "That's it," he repeated. Ah, what the hell. She clicked it before handing it back over to Nick, who looked up when she waved the tablet with a cough.

"Oh, you've—COO?" He offered a painstaking smile. "Do you have any business experience, Mr. Victoria?"

"I was a commander." He leaned back in his chair, again favoring his left side. His arm brushed against hers, warm through his clothing. "I embarked on a few successful campaigns. While running a country in the meantime, I might add. For years." He dipped his head, looking at Nick over lenses that weren't there. "Running a business should be easy in comparison."

"I—" Nick rubbed at his chin. "Actually, you know what? I'm going to set up an interview." He tapped the tablet. "I'm no businessman, and we do normally expect at least some past experience or a degree, but I think that if you show them that same sort of determination, then… well, it can't hurt."

They left the office at a little past midnight. The streets were more active now, people rushing up and down as they hurried between buildings. There was even a crowd at the bus stop, tapping their toes and scowling at their watches.

Seras shoved the folder of copies and more paperwork beneath her armpit and joined the queue, feeling the hair on the back of her neck rise as Alucard stepped too close behind her. Others seemed to feel it as well, looking at him haltingly before shuffling away and turning to their phones. He ignored them as easily as he did the soldiers at home.

"Oi." She turned back; he looked down at her. She cleared her throat, leaning over to bump her shoulder against his arm. "You, er—you did well." It was true: he'd been patient, hadn't caused a scene, and even landed a job interview—however unorthodox his resume and skill set were. "Good job."

"Hmm."

"But we're going to have to work on your interview skills tonight."

"I don't see why." She wagged a finger at him.

"You can't scare them into giving you a job. Even with your creep factor, you've got to put on the charm. Remember…." She leaned in closer, lowering her voice. "Incognito, right?"

"Hmm."

"We're supposed to be—" She paused, seeing an older woman arch a brow in their direction. She smiled back, staring steadily until the woman looked away again. "We're supposed to be setting down roots." She raised her voice an octave, trying to appear the picture of a slightly nagging wife. "You can't do that if you have no money."

"I told you—" She shook her head, eyes widening as she hummed warningly. His mouth twisted and he looked properly annoyed, something she might have laughed at were she not trying to make him see the necessity of being normal for once. "As you like." His hand grabbed hers and tightened punishingly around her fingers. She squeezed back just as tightly, not cowed by the pain of her bones being crushed. She'd dealt with so much worse over the years that it was on the same level of a wasp sting: something to be avoided, but not world-shattering.

They stood demurely, waiting for the bus and trying to mash the other's fingers into a gory pulp. She felt his hand give first, slender bones snapping just audibly enough that the people nearest them turned around in confusion, looking for the source of the distinct sound. They both seemed unaffected, and after a moment the growing crowd gave up. Her fingers followed soon after, but only one or two people tried to see what had made the noise.

The bus arrived and she forced him to let go, shadows sneaking down the sleeve of her jacket to quickly heal her hand before she had to hand the fare to the driver. The bus was filling fast, and while Alucard snagged a seat she was forced to stand in front of him. As she watched, a younger couple sat on the opposite side of the bus, the girl perched shyly on her lover's lap. Alucard sneered, patting his thigh in invitation. She scowled, tossing her hair.

"Behave," she hissed. He waited until she looked back before blatantly mapping her through her coat with his eyes, lingering on her chest. She turned away, masking the movement as a need to adjust her shoe.

"The view's just as nice," he commented in a low voice. She tensed, then relaxed. Showing that his words affected her in any way—irritation or not—was a surefire ticket to a night full of teasing. "Turn to the side and let me have a VIP view." His knee nudged at her leg. She turned back to the front, lips pursed.

"We're in public," she reminded him starkly. "A real gentleman would let the lady have the seat."

"Find one and take his." Too late; he was already setting in for a good night's work. "To be fair, I offered you a seat, and you refused."

"I'm blonde, but I'm not stupid." She forced herself to pause. Retaliating like that would only make him worse. Sir Integra, despite being one of the most intelligent people she knew, hadn't figured that out yet. Yelling at Alucard did nothing. One had to fight this sort of fire with baking soda, rather than common water. "I know you can't resist that sort of temptation." He reclined as best he could on the plastic seat, grinning.

"True." He looked her over again, this time less mockingly and more appreciatively. "You have an odd habit of staying just of my grasp." He looked past her hip, and then rose to his feet in a fluid motion, offering his seat to a small child before pressing up against her, his hand covering hers on the strap. "Then again, I'm known for tenacity." She pressed her hand against his chest before she could think, pushing him back to an acceptable distance.

"Remember what I told you this earlier," she huffed, staring over the child's head. The last of the offices disappeared and were replaced with suburban streets and rich gated communities. She could see the tops of clay tile roofs as they trundled by, security guards standing watch in front of gilded gates. A gated community inside a gated community…. She pondered the absurdity, nearly losing focus on him.

"I remember. And you remember what I said."

"Hmph!"

"So callous," he chuckled. "You wound me, my dear."

"Oh, please."

"You don't have to beg; I'm more than willing." If they were at home, even at the townhouse, she might have ventured to slap him for that sort of cheek. Baking soda, baking soda. She took a breath, keeping it even and slow. He doesn't affect me.

"How do you know you won't be the one begging?" she managed to say, injecting just enough snark that it sounded well thought out and sincere.

"Is that your style? I should have guessed."

"You do realize there are children on this bus, don't you?" She looked pointedly at the child in his vacated seat, who had clambered to his knees and had his face smushed against the window.

"A kiss, at least." He sighed in pretend melancholy. "Spare your poor husband a passing moment."

"Would you shut up!" she snarled, trying to keep her voice down. Even with the murmur of other passengers, she felt as though he were speaking loud enough for the whole bus to hear. "W-when we get home, if you'll just be quiet."

"Two kisses, then, since I have to wait."

"Take your one and be grateful, you bat."