Disclaimer: The characters mentioned herein are not my property. I make no money off of this fic.

A/N the first: Well, here it is. Last chapter. I actually expected this to be a little bit longer, and maybe one day I'll add one more chapter. It just won't be anytime soon.

Chapter Four: Beauty

Journal,

We are staying in a hotel for the last time. Tonight, when the sun sets, we will finish our drive to Texas and make our rendezvous with Spike and Angel's mutual acquaintance, Andrew. The prospect does not appeal to me. I do not enjoy meeting new people. I do not enjoy meeting any people.

Spike and Angel are both asleep. We arrived two hours before sunrise. Spike went directly to bed, having driven us throughout the night. I went out to inspect the surrounding areas. When I got back to the room, I found Angel sitting beside the door. His face was buried in his hands, and a bottle of liquor was placed at his side.

Angel did not acknowledge my presence as I approached. I stood over him for some time, neither one of us speaking. Every now and then, I detected a slight shudder of his shoulders. I had noticed this same sort of movement about Wesley when he was in a particularly despondent mood. "I just need to be alone," he had said.

The memory of this made me break the stillness of almost an hour. "Do you need to be alone?"

This comment made Angel remove his head from his hands in order to stare at me, open-mouthed. "What did you say?"

"I am curious," I answered. "Does isolation heal you in some way? Does the presence of another being exacerbate your ailment?"

"Curious," repeated Angel. "Ha. It almost sounded like you cared. For a moment." He sighed and shifted his feet from under him. "But I guess you don't know how. No, I don't need to be alone."

I considered his countenance. "Why do you sit out here alone, if it does not aid your health? What are you doing?"

"Missing people," he said. His response was uttered in such low tones that a human would not have been able to discern it. My extraordinary hearing perceived it with ease. "Cordy, Gunn, Fred, Wesley, Doyle. All of them are dead. I just wonder, sometimes, what their lives would have been like... What if they'd never met me?"

He paused for a few seconds. "Not to mention Buffy, Lorne, Nina, Connor... I'm so tempted to just go out and find them all. I miss having my close-knit circle. But now they're all gone, and I'm left with Spike, who aggravates the hell out of me, and a self-important, indigo demon who hates everyone. That's not a great comfort."

I stared at him. "I am not indigo," I said. "I am sapphire. Indigo is a weak color. I dressed my slaves in indigo to signify their inferiority and to--"

"Frankly, it's good to know that you can focus on the important issues in life."

"Your grief continues despite the passage of time?" I inquired.

"Grief never really goes away," Angel replied. "Have you stopped grieving for Wesley?"

I thought of the last few weeks. How the smells of Wesley's apartment had overwhelmed me. How I had bared my pains to this journal. How, despite the company of Spike and Angel, I could not help but feel there was someone missing throughout our trip from Los Angeles.

"I do not feel as strongly as I did the night of his death," I answered. "And yet, there are... aches. I cannot name them. But they strike at me unpredictably. I find them inconvenient."

"You should be grateful," Angel said to me, though his eyes looked elsewhere. "Those aches are the best you can hope for. You can never get rid of them. Not entirely. Once you've lost someone you loved. You just have to find a way to cope with them."

We were silent for a few minutes. Then I sat next to him beside the door. Although I maintained a position of grace and poise, while Angel was slumped and spread out untidily.

"Is this how you cope?" I asked.

Angel handed me the bottle of liquor. "It helps," he replied. And he smiled for the first time in weeks.

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Journal,

I have met Andrew. And he is infuriating. Even more so than the man whose arms I snapped.

This evening, when Angel drove the automobile into an empty parking area, a young man was waiting, accompanied by several females. As we exited our car, the man ran towards us and flung himself at Spike.

"Amigo!" he cried. "I'm so glad you're not muerto! How bad would that have been, huh? Died and came back as a vampire; died and came back as a ghost; and then to die and... not come back. It would be worse than 'Xena'. I mean, seriously, how many times did she die? And she just kept on coming back. Until the finale, of course."

Spike said nothing, although he appeared as if Andrew's presence caused him physical pain.

Andrew turned to Angel. "Hola again! You know, compadre, I'm not surprised you turned to me for help with your battle. You were obviously amazed by my incredible fighting skills last time we met."

"The last time we met was in Italy, and the only fighting you were doing was with the dirt in your pores."

Andrew seemed to recall this. "Wow, I forgot all about Italy. I meant back when you enlisted my help with that crazy Slayer and I had to save everyone."

Angel looked at him as if he were delusional.

"And you must be the new girl! Angel told me over the phone about how you pulled through for them. Like at the end of 'Return of the King', how Eowyn totally slaughtered the Witch King when no one else could. You're just like her, the White Shieldmaiden of Rohan! Except you're more blue than white. And you don't come from Rohan--"

"This is all fascinating, Andrew, really. But the sun's going to be coming up in a couple of hours, so maybe we should go ahead and leave."

Andrew's annoying smile did not waiver. "No problemo! Let's all hop in my van; my Slayer trainees like to sit up front with the good air conditioning vents, but there's plenty of room in the back--"

Spike interrupted him. "Actually, Andrew, why don't you drive your van, and we'll follow you in our car?"

Andrew shook his head. "Probably not a good idea, what with the forces of Hell trailing you. Best just to leave your car, give 'em the slip. Besides, I've got the Star Wars soundtrack! I figured we could all listen to it on the way to the great state of Mexico!"

Two hours later, Andrew parked his car and hopped out. "Welcome," he declared, "to my humble hacienda! Don't forget to wipe your feet!" He and his Slayers headed towards the large house while Spike, Angel, and I exited the automobile more slowly. It had been a maddening journey, as Andrew had not once ceased his prattling.

"Pain," I said as we walked to the house. "I must inflict pain upon him. Terrible pain. Perhaps by shattering his kneecaps."

Spike spoke for the first time since before we assembled with Andrew. "I'm afraid you're gonna have to hold off for now, Blue. Right, Angel?"

Angel appeared to consider. "Well, I guess in this particular case, maybe some non-fatal torture--" He seemed to realize his words. "I mean... no. No, we can't hurt a human. No matter how irritating he is. No matter how badly we want to bash his head against the wall..."

----------

Journal,

It has been two weeks since we crossed Andrew's threshold, and as much anguish as it causes me to speak these words, I fear we have grown into a routine of sorts. I am greatly displeased, for I have always felt that routines were for those worthless dullards who did not possess the wit to generate variety.

At the dawn of every day, the humans awake. Twenty-eight Slayers and Andrew. They devour foul-smelling foods before they begin a stringent training regimen. Spike and Angel often help to teach the Slayers multiple fighting techniques. As if the vampires know anything about true combat.

Nevertheless, I sometimes allow them to practice their weak punches and kicks on me. After all, they have never caused me any pain. I actually find their attempts somewhat amusing.

I am becoming better at ignoring Andrew's nonsensical ramblings. I am still mildly bothered by the names he calls me: things such as 'Azul' and 'Mujer Espantosa'. He does not show me proper respect. Yet, I refrain from ripping his internal organs out of his body. Angel calls this "progress". Spike calls it "the patience of a saint".

When the sun sets, I abandon the house for the streets of the nearby city. Sometimes, if his favorite television show is not playing, Spike will accompany me. However, I usually enjoy solitude for my hunting.

This area is infested with half-breed demons and bottom-dwellers. Not one of them has posed a challenge to my swift blows. I sometimes wish the Senior Partners would send their throngs of warriors after me. I fear my fighting proficiency will suffer without a proper contest.

By the time I return to our shelter, everyone is sleeping. As I do not require respite of any kind, I often remain outside, stargazing. Over the past month, I have learned every constellation in this world. The stars alleviate my restlessness, if only temporarily.

Despite all of this dreadfully dull activity, something particularly strange has been occurring. Incredibly, I find myself becoming inured to human activity. It seems to cause me less discomfort than it once did. It is almost as if I am starting to enjoy their company. I inspect their eccentricities, their idiosyncrasies. And for some reason, I believe I am fond of them.

Part of me is disgusted that I would lower myself to such a degree. But another part of me is beginning to think that humans might not be such odious, dim-witted creatures. True, they are still foul-smelling and tedious. But I believe I may have been overlooking some intricate aspects of their psyches, back in the Old Ages.

Perhaps they have grown throughout the millennia. Or maybe I have. Something happened the night that Wesley died. Somehow, incredibly, the concern and the grief I felt for him triggered these basic human emotions that have begun weaving themselves into my thoughts recently. And he knew it. "How very human of you," he had said, minutes before his heart had beat its last.

If I had discovered these emotions months ago, I most assuredly would have fought them. I would have killed every human within miles to prevent their feelings and passions from bleeding into my essence. I would have clawed my way through the earth and into the bowels of Hell in order to remain a queen. But nothing can be done for it now. I must live among humans. I can only hope that I will learn how. With time. And this journal.

I still miss my Old Worlds. The memory of their beauty pulls at me. How they glittered. How they sang. But I think of the last few seconds of Wesley's life, when he smiled with a serenity I had never seen. I think of the expression of utmost bravery on Gunn's face as he laid down his life for his friends. I think of the stars reflecting in a pond; of the oak tree's leaves shaking slightly with happiness; of an annoying salesman's arms breaking. And I realize that this world has beauty, too. I can appreciate that much.

--Fin--

A/N the second: Yay! All done! Unless I decide that Illyria has some more adventures in store. In the meantime, I'm working on a Wes/Lilah darkfic, if anyone is interested.

A/N the third: "Azul" is Spanish for "Blue; "Mujer Espantosa" is Spanish for "Scary Woman". If I'm not much mistaken.

A/N the last: Thanks everyone for the great reviews! Especially gopie, Hearns, and Imzadi for reviewing every chapter! I only wish I were as good a reviewer.