CHAPTER FOUR: The Return of Martin who?

The Anchor Bar was a Buffalo landmark. Located downtown, the bar was the home of the famous Buffalo chicken wings and on any given night there were locals and tourists enjoying spicy wings and the music of live bands. As she pushed open the door and walked in, Willow thought that it was an unlikely spot to meet up with a warlock.

Willow had spent the entire day wondering just who she was meeting up with. She’d come to the conclusion that a visiting warlock, familiar with the work that she was doing in Buffalo with the slayers and the Watcher’s Council, had arrived in town and wanted to meet with her. That didn’t explain the unusual method of communication, nor did it explain the mysterious message and the odd meeting location. But Willow had learned to expect the unexpected.

She wasn’t worried. She figured that by choosing a public place, her mystery guest was trying to set her at ease. That didn’t mean, however, that she wasn’t going to be careful.

She glanced around the bar, wondering if he was here already, if he’d spotted her, and how long he’d wait before approaching her. It was a Friday night and patrons were just starting to trickle in. The house band was setting up in a corner and waitresses were busy carrying trays of beer and wings to their customers. Willow wandered over to the bar and perched on a stool, keeping her eyes glued to the mirror so that she could scan the place and see whoever was coming up behind her.

She ordered a beer and waited. It was after eight and still nothing. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes for a moment, and then lifting her head, she scanned the room, picking out the auras. She glanced around, looking for a powerful aura; if her date was a warlock, he’d have an incredible one.

There were lots of navy auras and a bright yellow one that made her pause. Bright yellow auras were very rare and unusual. She’d only ever known one other person with a bright yellow aura. It was beautiful and had swirled around her like clouds of singing angels. The urge to turn and search out who that gorgeous aura belonged to was incredibly strong and Willow’s heart twisted…

Tara….

She fought back the pain she still felt at the loss of her former lover, and just as she was going to look away, she saw something that caused a shiver of genuine unease: the traces she’d come across when she’d done her walk about the property. A powerful aura of vibrant red and orange. There were trails of it coming into the bar and across the floor and right –

Oh God.

Right behind her.

Willow stared into the mirror.

Vampires don’t have reflections.

Shit!

“Red, don’t scream and don’t faint!” A familiar, accented voice said softly. “Please don’t scream, Red. Don’t turn around either. You aren’t ready yet.”

Willow drew in a harsh breath from deep, deep in her chest. She knew that voice. But just as she knew it, she knew it was impossible.

He was dead!

She could still hear the echo of Buffy screaming the words. She could still hear Buffy crying in her room at night.

He’d died. Not once, but twice. Years ago!

It was impossible!

Willow took another deep breath, staring in the mirror at her pale face. Her eyes were wide, her jaw dropped. She looked a fright, as if she’d seen a ghost; and she hadn’t even seen him yet! There was nothing in the mirror behind her but that vivid orange and red aura, swimming around her.

Then she felt his hands on her shoulders and she jumped

“Willow, turn around when you’re ready.”

She closed her eyes and putting her hands on the bar, she slowly spun the bar stool and faced him.

“Oh, God,” she gulped, tears springing to her eyes. She covered her mouth and stared at him out of wide, shocked eyes. He looked, well, he looked exactly the same. “Spike! How – when – what the hell are you doing here?”

Grinning, he took a step back. “You aren’t going to scream are you?”

She shook her head, eyeing him from head to toe. She reached out and poked his chest. As hard as marble. Unyielding.

“It’s you. You’re real,” she murmured. Her eyes widened even more. “You’re the vampire Chantal spotted the other night and the one who’s been hanging around our house. My God! Spike!”

He nodded. “Yes I’m real. And yes, your little Frenchie sensed me a couple of times and yes I have been – uh – hanging around your house.”

She sat up and reached out to take his hands. “What the hell happened?”

Shifting uneasily, he glanced around the noisy bar. “I – I can’t go into all the details, not yet.”

She shook her head. “Okay, for now. But, Spike, where have you been the last ten years?”

He snorted. “Well, that’s part of the story. Let me tell you this much. Two weeks ago I was in L.A. fighting the fight of my life. I met up with a demon and a stake and the next thing I knew, I was here in Buffalo. The bloody Powers That Be sent me here. “

Willow frowned. “In L.A.? But you’ve been dea-“

“Yeah, Red, I died that day and the Powers That Be sent me here, years later.”

“Good grief!”

“Not sure there’s anything good about grief, but it is what it is.”

“So you lost ten years?”

“Yeah, mind you – for someone who’s been alive as long as I have – seems a bit like splitting hairs to get worked up over a few years,” he said, shrugging it off.

As Willow began to realize the true scope of his return from the dead, her eyes began to glow and a smile slipped across her lips. She reached out and grabbed his hands. “Spike – this – this is incredible! The PTB sent you here! They saved you again! Obviously there was a reason for it!”

He looked away from her and she paused, picking up on his discomfort. He was hiding something.

Glancing back at her, he said, “Don’t go peering into my thoughts and trying to get at things that I don’t want to tell you. But yeah, the bloody Powers That Be have a plan for me.” He wasn’t about to tell her about Angel and the prophecy. No sodding way. That choice was for him and him alone to judge and live with. If Buffy ever found out that Angel was alive and a man... Spike knew in his heart that she would move heaven and earth to find him.

“What’s the plan?” Willow asked.

The bar stool next to hers freed up and Spike slipped on it. He gestured to the bartender, “What d’you have on tap, mate?”

“Stella, Guinness, Labatt’s, Tetley’s,” the bartender droned.

“Tetley’s,” Spike said, then turned back to Willow. “To save Buffy, what else?”

Willow gaped at him. “Save Buffy?”

Taking the pint, he drank deeply, then he glanced back at her. “Yeah, Red, you live with her, you should have a better idea of just how much saving she needs.”

“What did they tell you?” Willow asked softly.

He scoffed. “Nothing that I wouldn’t have picked up after one night watching that house.”

“What do you mean?”

“What?” he asked incredulously. “Are you taking the piss?”

She shook her head.

“I’ve been watching that house for two weeks, see,” he began, “and not once has the slayer left it. She stays in the house doing whatever she’s doing, and let’s those little girls go out and do her patrols and her slaying for her. The Powers That Be told me she was lost and I didn’t exactly know what they meant. Now, now I get it. She’s lost alright – and not her heart like they said – but her sodding mind!”

Willow’s mouth dropped bit by bit during his rant, and then she smiled.

“Are you daft?” he exploded. “What the bleeding hell are you smiling about?”

Willow jumped off the stool and threw her arms around him. He froze, unused to any physical affection coming from the Scoobies.

“I’m just so happy you’re here,” she whispered.

He slipped his arms around and hugged her back, closing his eyes, relishing this small victory, this small embrace, this small link to Buffy. “Me too, pet, so am I.”

***

Spike insisted on ordering fifty of the famous Anchor Bar chicken wings and Willow watched in amusement as he ate them, licking his fingers and enjoying every drop of grease and hot sauce.

“Bloody magnificent these are,” he enthused. “As good as that blooming onion thing!”

She simply watched him, marveling over the fact that he was there, sitting across from her, living (well sort of), breathing (not necessarily), and proof that there was such a thing as a miracle.

“So what are we going to do?” she asked finally after he finished telling her about that last battle in L.A. and the fall of Wolfram & Hart.

He tossed the last wing into the basket and cleaned his fingers on a wet wipe. “We need to figure out a way to let Buffy know, and I’m looking to you, to figure it out.”

“I suppose I can’t just invite you to dinner,” she mused.

“Can we tell the Little Bit first?” he asked hopefully.

Willow pursed her lips. “That might work. Oh God, Dawnie, she’s going to be thrilled that you’re alive.”

He glared. “Not alive, Red. Un-dead remember.”

She chuckled. “Okay, whatever, you know what I mean! She’s going to be so excited. We need to tell her right away.”

“And then?”

She was at a loss. “Honestly, the best thing might just be to sit Buffy down, explain it to her, and have you walk through the door. Tada!”

“If I’d known that was going to be your fantastic plan, I would have just knocked on the front door.”

“Spike, all we need to do is prepare her. It – it won’t be as much of a shock as you might think.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“We knew that there was someone, something, hanging around the house and we’d figured out it was a vampire with a soul. I was supposed to actually figure out who it was. We simply thought that, well, with both you and Angel dead these last years, that another en-souled vampire had been made.”

He nodded. “Okay, so perhaps it’s a matter of you explaining to her that you’ve discovered who it was hanging around. And you know, sort of explain to her the whole ten year bit.”

She waved his concern away. “You were in an alternate dimension.”

He pursed his lips and cocked a brow. “Not sure if that’s going to make a bit of difference to her.”

Willow eyed him. “Yeah, you didn’t contact her after, well, after Wolfram & Hart brought you back to L.A. after Sunnydale.”

“I know that was all explained to you. I was a bleeding ghost! Couldn’t even lift the bloody phone.”

“And after?”

He groaned. “I went to Rome to find her and put it this way, I was the last sodding vampire she needed. She’d gone back to the tall, dark, and brooding type.”

Wincing, Willow remembered Buffy’s ill fated affair with the Immortal. It had been bad. And now, well now it seemed that it had been worse than bad.

Spike shrugged. “So I went back to L.A. and when I saw Andrew I told him not to say anything. Then, I fought the good fight with Angel and his L.A. band of misfits, I died again, and here I am.”

“Buffy still hasn’t forgiven Andrew for not telling her,” Willow said softly.

He laughed. “Good for him, never knew the git had it in him. I think I told him not to tell her because I hoped he would and save me the trouble of hiding it and staying bloody miserable for the rest of my un-dead life.”

Willow burst out laughing and he looked at her oddly. “What?”

“God, it’s good to have you back, Spike.”

“Now that’s something I never thought I’d hear,” he muttered.

“We’re all grown up now,” she pointed out.

Nodding, he glanced down at his beer. “Well, let’s hope that you all are.” He finished the last of his drink and stood up. “Well then, shall we go and tell the slayer that her Martin Guerre moment has arrived?”

Willow looked confused. “Martin Guerre?”

“You dating the Frenchie and you don’t get it. Sad, sad state of affairs this is.” Shaking his head in disappointment, he turned and headed out of the bar, leaving Willow with the bill and wondering how he knew she was dating a French girl! She threw some money on the table and ran to catch up, muttering to herself about how some people never, ever really grew up.