Work Text:
Somewhere on the other end of
Thirty years of waiting
She gives him his freedom.
But he still calls her Master.
She pins him down in his coffin sometimes
With the sun hanging high and the footsteps of Hellsing's
New blood
Echoing above their heads.
Those are the times he calls her Master still.
And Sir, and Mister Hellsing, and other vulgar little things
Those fresh faced kids upstairs can't possibly know
Make her mouth twitch with the
Faintest smile.
