Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

Integra huffed, examining the ruins. How many times was Maxwell going to let Anderson cross the line into their territory?

There was no one available to do damage control; there had been a rash of young vampires frolicking all over England and threatening to spread to other close-by countries. So, armed with her work clothes, rubber gloves, and an army of cleaning supplies, Sir Integra got down on her hands and knees and began to clean.

The blood was still undried... Though she was sure most of it was Alucard's, she got plenty of satisfaction from the fact Anderson had been beaten back to Ireland. She swore under her breath as she cut her wrist on a stray chunk of glass. She tossed it into a spare bucket and went back to work. Compared to what abrasions she was used to, a scratch was hardly even something to dwell on.

Stained glass windows centuries old: 10,000 pounds…each, she mused as she assessed the damage, mopping up the pools of crimson with rags. New tiled floor: 30 pounds per square feet. Repaired walls: 1,000 pounds. Miscellaneous…she'd just round it down to 5,000. Good thing Alucard didn't come with a price tag bigger than a few civilian casualties…

It took her a good six hours to clean up the actual mess and on the flight back, she made orders and apologies. By the time she got home, she was ready to collapse on her bed.

Which she did, happily.

III

The next few days, Integra spent in bed. She had chills and fevers in turn, her body aching, her head pounding and occasionally vomiting. As much as she hated lethargy, the mysteriously appearing flu wouldn't allow her to do anything. She cut Walter off every time he tried to voice his concerns.

After three days, she was back to her old self, and the illness was pushed out of her mind.