Broken.

The left one, to be precise. Though he was ambidextrous, it was his more commonly dominant one. The young butler stood at the oven, a gloom seemingly looming over him more than usual as he agonized over the pot in front of him. Soup, and though his right hand was trained enough, it was still a tricky task serving himself.

It was early, in the morning. Probably 2 am. Arthur was still awake but Alucard was out on a mission.

Without him. 

With a broken hand, the angel was nearly useless. At least this freshly broken. In a couple of weeks, he could hold a gun with his other, maybe, but it was of general agreement that he'd slow things down substantially like this. 

All he could think was that Alucard had been right, when he said Walter wouldn't make the necessary jump from the ledge of a building without at least getting hurt. But not by the fall. His wires, his very own wires had tangled and squeezed the bones in his hands to snapping. The gloves had saved him from losing it entirely, but he had been like worm on a fishing line until Alucard was able to free him. After decimating their quarry, of course.

Silence stretched between he and his newly returned partner who stood at the door. The Butler was inconsolable, and had been for some days. Silence was all that could be exchanged.