Last Mission

Chapter 1

I knew this was going to be difficult but I wasn't prepared for just how difficult. I stood in the bland, over-large office that now served as Angel's inner sanctum and flipped my cell phone open and closed repeatedly as my nerves began to get the better of me.

What a wuss I've become! I've taken on Hell Gods and averted apocalypses left, right and centre. But face an old lover and one-time friend? I could hardly stand still; every fibre in my body telling me to run. But I had to do this; I couldn't avoid this meeting.

The door behind me opened and I felt Angel's presence before I heard him call my name in confusion. I hadn't seen him in over ten years, not since the army of slayers had stepped in to sort out the mess that he and his dubious association with Wolfram & Hart had created in LA. Willow and her coven had used magicks to close the rift that had allowed the demons into our dimension, while the slayers took care of those that had already come through the open portal.

After 'the LA Battle', we found the bodies of Wesley, Gunn and the she-god that had been inhabiting Fred's body, although we never established if the god had jumped into another body before the end. We found Angel under the corpse of a large dragon. Lack of breathing meant that we couldn't tell if he was alive, well, still undead, but since he hadn't dusted we assumed he was just the vampire equivalent of being unconscious. We took him back to his hotel where he revived the following day with no permanent injury other than the one to his over-developed ego.

I hadn't seen him from that day to this; hadn't wanted to. Now he stood behind me, and I wanted to be anywhere but here.

"Buffy?" he queried again.

Turning slowly I acknowledged him with a curt, "Angel".

He hadn't changed, of course. I hadn't expected him to look any different but suddenly being confronted by someone who hadn't aged in the 17 years I had known him was strangely disconcerting.

To increase my discomfort, I must have looked all of my 35 years and then some.

I was suddenly scooped up into a great bear-hug which had my 'fight or flight' response doing a complete 180. I was itching to tear myself away and beat the crap out of this presumptuous vampire. But as soon as he dropped my feet back to the ground I stepped back, swallowed hard and forced a smile as far as my lips. As much as I hated to admit it, I needed his help.

"It's good to see you Buffy," he began, "you look good. Please, take a seat."

He indicated an upholstered leather designer chair on my side of a large glossy black desk, while he walked to the other side of the desk, where I now noticed that there was a mug full to the brim with blood, and sat himself in a similar, but grander, chair facing me. His back was to the window, which was treated, of course, to allow in light but not that particular frequency of ultraviolet rays that were harmful to vampires.

I felt like I had been called in to the head teacher's office for some minor infringement of school rules. Or perhaps this was a job interview? For all he looked the same, I found it impossible to reconcile the pompous over-stuffed suit in front of me with the man I had given my virginity to, the man I had once loved.

"So, Buffy," Angel said slowly. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

Could he be more formal? What happened to, 'how have you been Buffy?' or 'how are your friends; how is Dawn; Giles, the Scoobies?' No offer of a coffee even, but he was happy to have me wrinkling my nose at the smell of his own choice of beverage.

Angel had never really mastered any people skills, in spite of having more than 250 years to do so. But the lack of common courtesy suited me as I had a tight timescale, so I let it pass.

"I need your help, Angel. I know you will be reluctant to give me what I need but I have my reasons."

"O-okay, what can I help you with?"

"I need to know how to contact Spike." There! I'd said it!

His face and eyes became round with astonishment and for a moment I thought his head might burst like an over-inflated balloon. He seemed stunned and incensed all at once. There was a brief pause while he seemed to gather himself.

"But, Buffy," he enunciated slowly as if talking to a small child, "You know Spike didn't survive the LA Battle."

I smiled again, but this time it was obviously fake and I didn't bother to hide my contempt. "So you told me at the time. But we both know that you lied to me."

"Now, Buffy, why would I do that?"

So, he didn't deny it.

"Frankly Angel, I'm not interested in your reasons, just tell me how to get in touch with him."

"But Buffy, he's gone. You know that."

My initial nervousness at seeing Angel had evaporated to be replaced with a large helping of anger and a side order of contempt.

"Cut the crap, Angel! I've known for a long time that Spike survived and you whisked him away. So where is he?"

"Buffy I don't understand what you mean. Spike dusted during the Battle." He spread his large hands across the desk and looked at me with a pained expression on his face.

"I'm not a fool! Tell me how to find him. I need to see him."

"You can't be serious, Buffy. Spike's an unpredictable killer. He can't be trusted." He leant forward as if to emphasise his earnestness. It was all I could do not to slap the insincerity out of him. But as much as I was incredibly irritated by him, he had also just given me the confirmation I needed.

My heart was pounding and my mouth had gone dry.

"Okay. So we've established now that you know he's alive. So now tell me where he is."

"I didn't say that, Buffy. You're putting words in my mouth. And even if what you suggest is true, it would be remiss of me to put you in harm's way by sending you into the lair of a Master Vampire."

"Like I am now you mean?"

"That's not the same. You can trust me."

"But not with the truth it seems!"

"Look, Buffy, …"

But I had had enough. I thumped my hands down hard on his desk, making blood splash out of his mug, causing pens to jump out of their holder and leaving sweaty marks on the otherwise pristine surface. It gave me a small sense of satisfaction to mess up his desk. Childish, I know, but everything with Angel is just so perfect, like the desk, and it's all show. It cried out to be mussed up. Besides, he had always been a neat freak, easily irritated by mess. OCD much?

"No, Angel, I've had enough of this crap! Just tell me what I need to know and I'll leave you to enjoy your big shiny desk in peace."

"You haven't told me why you want to know yet." With his big, brown, doleful eyes he did a passable impersonation of a cow on its way to the abattoir.

"And just why is that relevant?" I asked, knowing I would have to tell him. I had known before I arrived in LA that I would have to give Angel the reason for my visit. I shouldn't have to. I didn't want to. But I knew I wouldn't have a choice. Angel had always been good at denying me any choice.

"Buffy you can't expect to just breeze in here after, what is it? Ten years? And then expect me to just give you whatever you demand without explaining why."

"Can I not? I didn't realise I had to clear everything I do with you first!" It was getting harder not to give my anger free-rein but I couldn't risk a pissed off Angel refusing to help me.

"That's not it, Buffy." His sad eyes stared at me with a mixture of betrayal and sorrow. How I kept my temper I do not know.

"I just need to get in touch with Spike. That's all you need to know," I tried.

"But why, Buffy? Why would you want to contact Spike of all people?"

My last pitch: "It's personal, Angel. Can't we leave it at that?"

"Personal? What personal business could you possibly have with Spike?"

"If I told you then it wouldn't be personal would it?" I said a silent prayer to the Powers That Be: 'Please make him drop this.' But of course the PTB never listen to me.

"Buffy, I don't like the sound of this. What got into you?"

"Cancer!"

Oh, for a camera! Angel flinched! He actually flinched!

What?" He seemed smaller somehow.

"Cancer. I have cancer." I was used to this by now. It almost felt like I was talking about someone else. Almost.

"But, but how? You can't. I mean, how's that even possible?"

"Yeah, I know. Slayer healing? Not so much!"

"What happened?"

I really hoped he wasn't going to get mushy on me. I had had enough of that already with the Scoobies.

"What can I tell you? Lump in breast, lumpectomy, lump back, cancer spread, game over!" I smiled weakly.

"But can't they do a, what do they call it, a mastectomy?"

"Oh, silly me, I hadn't thought about that. I must tell my oncologist." My sarcasm had Angel ducking his head with something that may have been embarrassment. But if it was, he wasn't embarrassed for me; he was embarrassed for himself. As always, it was all about him.

"Buffy!" he pleaded as if he thought this was some game I was playing just to get him to play ball. I wish!

"Look Angel, I've had all the tests and stuff. But the scans confirmed that it's spread too far. I'm riddled with it, Angel. That's just the way it is. I guess I'm just past my sell-by date; longest serving slayer and all that."

"For what it's worth, Buffy, I'm sorry." For an awful moment I thought he was actually going to cry! I should have known better.

"Thanks, Angel."

An uncomfortable silence followed. Then I shook off the gloom that had descended on us.

"So, how do I contact Spike?"

"If you need to tell him about your, um, your news, well, I can do that for you. You don't need to worry yourself about him, Buffy."

I had been thinking of just what I would tell Angel about my need to see Spike since I first decided to make the trip to LA, just after the scan results came back. I had this all worked out.

"Angel, sweetie," I said, putting on a syrupy, girly voice. "I'm putting my affairs in order, taking care of outstanding issues. I have some unfinished business with Spike and I'd like to clear the air before I, um, before I go."

"I'm not sure you'll get any value from seeing Spike. Don't expect any sympathy from him. I really wouldn't bother if I were you." His 'cow eyes' were back.

"But you're not me, Angel. I appreciate you are trying to help," NOT! "But I need to do this. Please try to understand. It's something I have to do." I struggled to keep the sickly sweet tone going.

"I don't understand, Buffy, I really don't. But I know how stubborn you can be."

Did the pot just call the kettle stubborn? I'm dying here, literally as it happens, and he's chiding me for being stubborn? No wonder I stayed away from him all these years.

"Are you going to help me, or not, Angel?"