Summary: When the man he trusted the most takes his innocence from him, Enrico Maxwell slowly begins to deteriorate inside.
A/N: I wrote for Hellsing a while back, but got into a little 'squabble', with two authors and that really crushed by passion for writing. But now, I'm back, all ready to post my stories! Thing is, if you don't like them, then don't read them.
Warnings: Rape, Yaoi, OC's, OOC Anderson.
Genre: Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Suspense
It started as a heated argument after Anderson returned to Enrico's office, drunk. Maxwell began as he always did, chastising Anderson for his foolishness, as if the priest was some incompetent little altar boy. He scolded his elder, holding his hand over his nose in a foolish fashion as if to avoid the smell of alcohol that plagued the room.
Anderson then glared at him, in a sinister type of way, causing Maxwell to draw back suddenly. The way the man swayed, the way his words slurred as they rolled off of his lips sent a chill down the Bishop's spine. He realized this wasn't the Anderson that he knew, the Anderson he had grown to love. This was the Anderson that had been possessed by alcohol, one of the most putrid of vices. Why Anderson had been drinking in the first place, Enrico couldn't fathom. All he knew was that the man was aggressive, as his language and body movement showed that.
"You think you can get away with saying anything..."Anderson breathed with a scent of scotch that was carried about the room. "Brats like you need to learn respect."
This wasn't the Anderson Maxwell knew, but he was just as quick and as strong as he lunged at Enrico, taking a firm hold of his arm.
"Unhand me!" Maxwell's voice was threatening, but in no way could he back it up. Anderson could tell this as a twisted smile crept upon the father's face. "Anderson_"
A muffled noise came from Maxwell's mouth as he was indulged by the taste of wine, and the smell of sweat and lust. Anderson's lips were glued to his every so tightly. He tried to push away, as the father took even firmer hold of him, grabbing his clothes and ripping them like scraps of paper. Maxwell didn't like this feeling. The feeling of being dominated, and more so, the feeling of being dominated by someone he trusted.
To cry for help would be pointless, Enrico only let the sin take over him, staining his once pure body.
A few days later, Enrico had avoided Anderson. He handled his affairs personally and made sure to push that night to the back of his head. It wasn't like him to completely fall apart, and he didn't plan to. Keeping his distance from the man whom had caused him so much distress would aid in his goal.
That morning, the Bishop found himself helplessly buried in a vast amount of paper work. Heinkel and Yumie had come by, asking about going to a park festival, but he quickly brushed them off. His pen was working automatically now, as he found it hard to concentrate. He didn't need his two girls to come in the room and distract him.
He was almost done with his work anyway. Just a few more signatures, and then he'd bring them to the office_
"Good afternoon," The thick accent rang through his ears, causing him to drop his pen. "Maxwell." He looked up from his papers and met Anderson's gaze. They were still as green and as fiery from a few nights before. Maxwell wondered if Anderson remembered anything.
"What brings you here father?"
"I was stopping by." His response was bland causing Maxwell to stiffen in his seat. "And I have a letter to give you, from Sir Integra Hellsing."
Maxwell rose an eyebrow hearing her name always caused his heart to beat faster than it should have. "For what? Why has she written to me? Is she requesting a meeting? The nerve of such a_"
Anderson placed the letter on his desk and stared at him. Maxwell cowered back. "What is it? Get out of here, I'm busy_"
"I don't think it needs repeating, but you need watch your tone around me, Enrico." The priest glared at Maxwell before backing up.
Does he remember... The look on his face was quite self exclamatory as Anderson sickly grinned.
"It was time that you were taught your place." Maxwell paled as Anderson turned to exit the room leaving him by himself. He tried his best to ignore the feeling of fear growing in his chest as he shakingly ripped open the letter Integra sent him.
'Good Day, Fr. Maxwell,
I hope this letter finds you well, that is if you decide not to destroy it in a pius rage.
I contact you in concerns of recent vampire attacks that have not just stemmed from my territory, but yours as well. Catholics and Protestants alike are being either ghouled, turned or kill. Every attack bears a similar message stating, 'Here lies a faithful heathen of God'. If this concerns you, then meet in my manor this time next week. If you are too ignorant to perhaps form an alliance, then discard this letter.
Sir Integra Fairbrooks Wingates Hellsing.'
Maxwell ran his hands through his hair and managed a smile, a twisted smile. Perhaps he could use this as an escape, a time to clear his mind. He'd tell only Heinkel and Yumie of his disappearance, then he'd try to get back on track while away from Anderson.
See...a bit OOC Anderson.
Back when I started writing for Hellsing, I was twelve, now I'm seventeen. Tell me if I'm getting better. I remember being inspired by authors such as maroongrad, death-in-the-orchard and Dirtyfacade, and now, that I'm 17 I have yet to re-read all their stories again, but it was becuase of them that I started in the Hellsing archive again, just that bit of inspiration and thus!
So everyone tell me what you think. Reviews would be appreciated and I do not own Hellsing