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I do not own Hellsing.

She was going to use every drop of hot water they had. It wasn't truly the plan she wanted to implement, but as Amelia reached for the shower dial, she realized that she had no towel, robe, or set of fresh clothes to put on. She paused for a moment and then stepped out of the cascade of water, listening.

The shadow that had been on the other side of the curtain was gone, and she did not know if the Captain was still in the room with her, even as she strained to pick up any noise outside the cubicle. She could not recall hearing him leave, but he seemed to have a way with silence the way some people had a way with words: it prompted a desired response.

An ache of unease passed through her gut, and she returned to the flow of water. She did not want to call on him for assistance, nor did she want to walk out of the shower naked to search for a towel and find him brooding in a corner. What if he appeared as a wolf again?

Werewolf, she corrected herself a moment later. The term sounded more foreign than 'vampire' as she mouthed it.

But you have to do something. What if he gets impatient? She quickly shut off the water, imagining a masculine figure ripping away the privacy curtain. Steam rose, spilling out of the top of the cubicle and taking the warmth with it. Another twinge of pain moved lower in her core, and she winced, wrapping her forearms across her stomach. A bead of red crept down her inner thigh, diluting as it mixed with the water on her skin.

"Captain?" She called with the urgency of someone who feared being heard. "Captain?" She forced her voice to carry beyond the stall, through the cheap plastic curtain. Footsteps, quick and too light for the person she was expecting, tapped across the tiled floor, a slender frame stopping in front of the curtain.

"Miss Harker?" a feminine voice replied. "Are you finished?" Before she could respond, the curtain slid aside for the Lieutenant to peer through. Amelia cried out and moved to cover herself, going so far as to fully turn her back on her new companion, mortified by the intrusion.

"Ah! You are so shy! Do not be afraid—here, a towel—we are both women." Amelia turned just enough to snatch the towel from the offering hand, wrapping it around her in a nervous rush. "We are the same. I would not look at you the way a man does." There were many an argument and disagreement that Amelia could raise at her words, but she bit her tongue and put her mind to drying herself off as decently as she could with the Lieutenant standing there as if such behavior was condoned.

"Oooh, they have not fixed your hair." The pout came after less than a minute of awkward and blessed quiet. Narrow eyebrows arched downwards at a sharp angle towards the bridge of her nose, the condensation on her glasses evaporating quickly. Combined with her complexion, the resulting impression was that of a woman many years younger than she appeared, the expression she wore more easily associated with a disgruntled sixteen-year-old. The wire-rimmed glasses and tailored suit—even the rifle on her back—suddenly seemed like overcompensation: a child's attempt to project the image of an adult. "I will cut it for you. Then you will be more presentable." She smiled as if the words were meant to be a comfort—trust between two friends.

Amelia did not smile back. "Um… I need…" She started, her towel wound tightly around her, legs pressed firmly together.

The Lieutenant's eyes lit up. "Yes! Yes, wait, wait a moment!" She sang something in German and ducked out of view, only to return seconds later with a large, wrinkled paper bag in her hands. She thrust it at Amelia, nodding enthusiastically that she should look inside.

"Um…" Not sure how she should interpret the woman's excitement, she hesitated a moment before accepting the bag. It was lighter than she thought it would be. She looked from the contents of the bag to the pointy-toothed grin and then pulled out the fabric. Not wanting to set the bag on the wet floor, she unraveled the clothing with one hand while remaining aware of how her towel shifted with her movements, waiting for the instant it loosened too much. It was a shirt. A white, collared, button-down shirt.

"There are slacks, too!" burst the Lieutenant as if she could not contain herself. Amelia looked back into the bag without a word. "And a coat! And lingerie, and shoes! They are for you!" She reached in and began to pull out what she thought was a sock, just as pristine white as the shirt, before discovering it was an undergarment and hastily dropping it, her cheeks warming.

For an instant she forgot that she was wearing nothing but a towel, concern on her face as she looked at the woman. "Why?"

"It is not appropriate to dress you in men's clothing," she shook her head as if this was obvious. "You are not just one of the soldiers; you are special. They will see it. Everyone will see it."

The paper crackled in her grip, her knuckles turning white. Everyone? She did not like the sparkle in her blue eyes.

"It's all white?" To avoid the gaze of the other woman, she began picking through the clothes in the bag, uncovering a pile of feminine products.

"As the virgin snow." Her face heated again as she kept her head bent.

"How does it fit?" The Lieutenant asked from the other side of the door.

"It fits." A lie. Amelia was staring at the white dress-shoes on her feet when she answered, her frown slightly audible as she wondered who had the audacity to wear a completely white outfit outside of a wedding venue. Everything was a little too long, her underwear felt looser than she was accustomed—possibly due to weight loss—and the shirt material was so fine, she couldn't help but worry that it revealed what she wore underneath. She pushed up the cuff of her sleeve to bare her wrist. She pulled it back down and it nearly touched her knuckles.

"May I see?" There was no avoiding it. She stuffed the paper bag under her arm and left her discarded towel on the floor beside the toilet, refusing to maintain eye contact with the other woman as she swung open the door.

"You look so mature." She stiffened as the Lieutenant took hold of her forearm and pulled her further out of the stall. One hand fidgeted with her collar, trying to pinch the fabric closer together to hide more skin. There was no button to cover her exposed clavicle or neck, something she felt had been left out by design.

"Don't you want to try on the coat?" She really didn't, but she pulled out the coat nevertheless, holding the cuffs of her sleeves as she pushed her arms through the expensive material. It was awful. Comfortable, high-end, bright, attention-grabbing. "Wait until the Major sees you. You'll look like twins!" Amelia's adjustments came to a jarring halt, the coat sagging on her left shoulder. "Well, almost like twins. You're much skinnier than he is," she laughed good-naturedly. "No, no! Keep your coat on! We will go and cut your hair, and then we will surprise him."

"I don't think that's such a good idea," Amelia mumbled, squeezing the bag in her hands.

Where is the Captain? Why did he leave? What did he tell her? What did he tell the doctor? I don't like this… The last time her instincts had warned her, she ignored them and regretted it. She did not want a repeat.

"Come now, Miss Harker, there's no harm in it. You'll need to get it sorted, eventually."

"But the Captain—"

"It will take a little more time to clean your room." Her words were sympathetic. "This will be a good distraction until then."

Distraction? What—what on earth did he tell her? She did not protest further, uncertainty keeping her thoughts sealed away.

The older woman led her out into the labyrinth of the base, making a couple of turns and then ushering her into an elevator that she did not know existed, the guard stationed by it grunting something at the cheery greeting before shifting his gaze to her, meek and scrawny in her over-sized clothes. They travelled up one level before getting off and taking a couple more turns, passing several closed doors before the Lieutenant opened one without knocking.

It was set up like a barber shop, mirrors spaced along the wall in front of adjustable chairs, hair products and styling tools spread unorganized over the long counter as if the grooming space was not kept by any single individual. The idea of something so mundane existing in this secretive, militaristic world of testosterone and hostility was shocking. It hadn't occurred to her that Millennium, with its monsters, and soldiers, and mad scientists, was a community of people, with routines and schedules, lifestyles and lives to maintain.

Amelia took a seat, sitting rigid, and thought of the last person who might have sat in the chair. Someone who fantasized about murder and violence, and then wondered, as he looked at his reflection, if his cut suited his face, made him attractive.

She didn't realize the Lieutenant had started her task until she heard the brisk snip of scissors and saw a curl of dark hair drop onto the towel set around her shoulders.

There was a fair bit of fussing over Amelia's haircut and the way it was combed and the amount of gel and spray she would allow the Lieutenant to use on it. Once it was cut properly, Amelia did not want her to touch her head again. Though her hair was just long enough to be styled, Amelia shook her head when the woman tried to run a comb through the dark brown locks.

"But this cowlick…" she pressed, and Amelia pulled her head away. "And you have these strands on the side that begin to curl out." Amelia shuffled in the chair and pulled the towel away from her neck, running her hand through the straying hairs around her right ear.

"It's fine." She set the towel by the sink and grabbed the coat she had been made to take off earlier so that the Lieutenant could shave the back of her neck. She didn't put it back on, but stuffed it under her arm, intending to dump it by the bag of hygiene products she had left by the bathroom sink. If she was lucky, it would wrinkle. Her shirt already had some nice creases from folding that had not been ironed out, and with her misbehaving hair, she rather liked her imperfect reflection in the mirror. She looked out of place.

"Miss Harker," chided the Lieutenant with a disapproving frown, one fist resting on her hip.

"No one is going to care about a few stray hairs. It's not worth the effort." She spoke plainly, hoping she was not coming off as confrontational. The Lieutenant pursed her lips, and she felt a small spark of triumph despite her weariness.

"Well, I care how you look," the older woman said as she put down the comb. She did not elaborate but grabbed a small broom and began sweeping up the hair on the floor, focusing on her cleaning but carrying a disappointed expression. Amelia stood and watched her with a mixture of strange emotions, questions popping into her mind that she pushed back so that the two of them remained in silence.

When she had finished tidying up, the Lieutenant wiped her hands of nonexistent dust and let out an airy sigh that seemed to release any tension between them. "Now, then," she hooked her arm around Amelia's, "shall we go and show the others your improved look?" There was no time to disagree as she started towards the door, her longer legs making their pace, and it was all Amelia could do to quicken her step to keep from stumbling behind.