Disclaimer: I don't own Hellsing.

Enrico sat on a bench, quietly reading his Bible, while the other boys ran about and roughhoused on the lawn behind the orphanage. Enrico had resolved not to make friends with any of them; they struck him as a dense, unintelligent lot, a swarm of dolts he didn't want to be associated with. Since coming to the orphanage a year ago, he'd become an arrogant, gloomy child, often prone to sulking and purposely avoiding social contact. He'd spend days sitting in his room or some other quiet, secluded spot, studying or reading his battered KJV. The book had become his life, and he took considerable pride in it. After all, Enrico was the only boy currently residing at Ferdinant Luke's that Father Anderson had trusted with a KJV.

Suddenly, a ball flew from some corner of the lawn and hit Enrico square on the back of the head with a dull thump. Biting his lip to keep from crying out, he looked up and saw the oldest and strongest boy at the orphanage, Mercutio, coming to retrieve the ball.

The fourteen-year-old looked at Enrico and grinned wickedly. "Oops, sorry. Maybe you'd better wake up, Bibbia Bastardo."

Mercutio cackled and jogged back to his toadies. Enrico, while indignant, didn't bother to chase after him. Mercutio had been beating on him and calling him a bastardo since he found out that Enrico was the product of adultery. Of course, everyone knew by this point. All the boys had their own reasons for being there, and some were just more embarrassing than others. That was the way things worked.

Father Anderson had found Mercutio in the streets when he was five or six. He hadn't had a name for the longest time, but as he got older he'd named himself. Enrico wasn't quite sure where "Mercutio" came from; all he could remember was that it was from a play... or something like that.

Enrico flipped through his Bible, trying to remember what passage he'd been reading.

"Mark 25...or was it 26?" he mumbled to himself. "Stupid Mercutio, never leaves me alone..."

Suddenly, he heard voices coming from the front of the orphanage, voices he'd never heard before. Instantly curious, he held his Bible in the crook of his arm and scrambled over to the orphanage wall. Cautiously poking his head around the corner, he saw Father Anderson and Father Renaldo talking to a strange grown-up man in a suit. They weren't raising their voices, but Enrico could tell from Father Anderson's stance that he was tense. Being only nine, he couldn't quite fathom what Anderson was so worked up over, but he assumed whoever this stranger was, he must have done something bad.

Enrico was about to turn around and head back to his bench, but he noticed something he hadn't seen before out of the corner of his eye. He looked back towards the gate, and saw a young girl standing next to the stranger. Enrico hadn't seen any girls his age since coming to the orphanage; thus, the girl seemed almost like an alien from some other planet, something strange and foreign that probably liked dolls and definitely had cooties.

The girl was dressed in a white blouse and a blue skirt, and she wore a pair of wire-rimmed glasses that gave her a bookish appearance. Her long, blond hair rustled ever so slightly in the breeze, and her bright blue eyes were wide open, taking in all the sights of the orphanage with curiosity and wonder.

Enrico stepped out from behind the wall without even realizing what he was doing. He just couldn't stop staring at that girl. His mind had gone completely blank; all he could do was stand there, watching her.

The girl happened to glance to her left, and she noticed his gaze. For a moment her eyes met his, and they both gaped at each other, as curious children do. Then, she smiled at him and waved.

Enrico waved back timidly, barely getting his hand above his shoulders. Then he realized what he was doing, and immediately dropped his hand and darted back behind the wall. "I can't be seen with a girl," he muttered. "Mercutio'll get me for sure..."

However, it was already too late. Enrico felt a pair of hands grasp his shoulders and pin him to the wall. When he looked up, he found himself staring into Mercutio's face.

The older boy smirked. "Easy there, bastardo. I know you're anxious, but not every girly's a puttana like your mommy. Some of 'em don't appreciate little twerps creeping on them."

Enrico turned beet red, and fought hard to keep from crying. "Leave me alone, Mercutio," he said through gritted teeth. He stood up as tall as he could and made as if to simply brush the other boy aside and leave. "I have to study. I can't be bothered with dirty street urchins."

Mercutio's cronies, who were standing a couple of feet off, suddenly went deathly silent. The smirk disappeared from Mercutio's face, and his eyes narrowed. "You'll pay for that, twerp," he spat, and drew back his fist.

Before he let it fly, however, Mercutio stopped and lowered his fist. "Ah, why waste my time? It's not like anyone cares about you, anyway. You're nothing, just a whore's son. The world would probably be better off without you... and it's certainly better off without that filthy mother of yours." And he laughed.

Enrico started to tremble, and his hands curled into fists at his sides. Suddenly, he lunged at Mercutio with a yell, and knocked the other boy to the ground. Without even really realizing what he was doing, Enrico started punching him in the face. He laid blow after blow on him until Mercutio's nose bled.

Finally, Mercutio's posse, who had been strangely immobilized up until this point, scrambled over and pulled Enrico off of their leader, who immediately jumped to his feet and wiped the blood off his face with his sleeve.

Mercutio strode over to Enrico, and slugged him square in the jaw. Enrico fell to the ground, and looked up to see Mercutio looming over him and smirking.

"Trying to pick a fight, bastardo? Alright, I'll give you one." He drew back his arm to strike again, and Enrico closed his eyes.

"Hey, stop! What do you think you're doing?"

Enrico opened his eyes to find the girl standing between him and Mercutio, hands on her hips and feet planted firmly apart. She'd spoken in English, with a very strong British accent, which meant that most of the boys hadn't understood a word. Her meaning was clear enough, though.

Mercutio, though startled at first by this foreigner, had quickly recovered and regained his smirk. "Wow, Enrico," he said in mock admiration. "This babe hasn't even been here five minutes and you've already got her reeled in! Standing up for you and everything! You're good, bastardo. Maybe you should go work a corner. Probably makes more money than brown-nosing, huh?"

Enrico looked up at Mercutio and his laughing cronies, and felt bitter tears well in his eyes and begin their descent down his cheeks.

The girl looked down at him with concern. "Are you alright?"

Enrico jumped to his feet and sprinted off sobbing, Mercutio's laughter ringing in his ears. He ran to the left side yard of the orphanage and crawled up onto the wall, drawing his knees to his chest.

The stone wall on this side of the orphanage was interrupted by a long, rectangular, box-shaped alcove, which housed a statue of the Virgin Mary in its center. There was just enough room on her right side for Enrico to crawl up next to her and escape the tragedies of life. He came here often; it had become his only safe haven.

He sat on the ledge, curled into a ball, and just let all the tears he'd been holding back burst forth. There was no need for him to do anything except sit there and cry. Years could have passed for all he cared.

However, after only a couple of minutes, he heard footsteps rounding the corner from the back lawn. Looking up through eyes blurred by tears, he saw the girl, and immediately hid his head between his knees.

The girl made her way over to the alcove and hopped up onto the other side of the statue. She leaned over to her right and looked at him. "What's your name?" she asked, in an almost commanding tone.

Enrico sniffled. "Vaffanculo."

The girl looked confused. "That's an odd name."

Enrico brought his head up and rolled his eyes at her. He knew enough English to understand what she was asking him, and just enough to respond appropriately. However, he wasn't exactly in the mood for politeness. "That is not my name. It means, 'screw you.' Go away."

The girl huffed indignantly. "That's not any way to talk to a lady!"

Enrico looked at her quizzically. "You are not a lady. You are a girl!"

The girl glared at him. "I am a lady! I'm Integral Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing! My father's been knighted," she added, almost as an afterthought. "He's doing very important work, and he brought me along with him. What does your father do?"

Enrico stared out at the lawn. "Do not have one. Why do you care?"

Integral looked shocked. "No father? That's horrible! Who helps you fix things, or plays cricket with you, or reads you bedtime stories?"

Enrico looked over at her; she seemed genuinely distressed. He sighed. "My Mamma used to tell me stories. What is 'cricket'?"

Integral didn't even bother to answer his question. "You have a mum? What's she like? I never had a mum... Father won't tell me anything about her."

Enrico shook his head angrily. How stupid could this girl be? Didn't she know what an orphanage was? "No Mamma, either, sciocco," he said, anxious to get off the subject.

Integral looked baffled. "How can you..." Suddenly, she seemed to realize something, and trailed off. "Oh," she said softly. "I'm sorry."

"Lo ti perdono," he mumbled. He sighed and translated when he got nothing but a blank stare. "I forgive you." After a moment's thought, he added, "Please leave. I want to be alone."

Integral looked at him sadly. "Alright." She jumped down from the alcove and started walking back towards the back lawn.

Suddenly, Enrico thought of something. "Aspetta! W- Wait!"

Integral turned around. "Yes?"

Enrico blushed, and mumbled, "Grazie."

Integral smiled. "You're welcome!" She trotted off, around the corner, and was gone.

Enrico watched her go, not quite sure what to think of the encounter. He opened his Bible and pulled a pen from his pocket. He flipped to the inside back cover and wrote in clumsy handwriting before closing the book and walking around to the front of the orphanage to go back inside.

Later, as he grew older, he would often wonder why he'd written in his Bible that day. Perhaps the girl had left an impression on him, or perhaps he'd simply wanted to remember the experience; he couldn't know for sure. In any case, he'd written down a name.

Integral Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing.