Spike took in the scene around him, afraid that if he moved, he’d be spotted. Leaning forward slightly, he whispered into the Slayer’s ear, “Maybe if we stay real still, they won’t see us.”

“To late, William!” Joyce exclaimed, the drink in her hand obviously not just orange juice.

She was standing in the doorway that lead from the dining room to the foyer, all the lights were on, and there was music coming from somewhere in the house. Motioning behind her to the half a dozen women who were gathered around the table apparently playing cards, she smiled broadly. “Buffy! You finally decided to come to bridge night.”

It wasn’t until the Slayer’s mum appeared that Spike realized he’d been standing there behind Buffy, his hands on her slim waist, her sweet-smelling hair in his face, and her *not* trying to punch him in the nose. Suddenly, it was all too much for him. The adrenaline that had been pumping through his veins through the whole crazy car ride was wearing off and he did the only thing he could do.

He laughed.

“You bloody women are going to be the death of me,” he gasped out in between chuckles and huffs of breath. Turning in his arms, Buffy stared up at him, incredulous. But the sight of Spike’s face all crinkled up in laughter, tears at the corners of his eyes, got to her, and she started laughing too. For minutes they stayed like that, every eye in the room on them as they just hugged and laughed and cried.

“Buffy? Is everything okay?”

And just like that, the spell was broken. Her laughter ceased, though the tears were still there, and Buffy all but collapsed into Spikes arms. *Bleeding hell, what do I do now?* Holding her tightly around the waist, Spike moved past Joyce into the kitchen, motioning her to follow. “You got a second, Mum?” he asked politely. “We need ta talk to you ‘bout something.”

“Of course William, just give me one second.” With that, Joyce popped out of the kitchen. By the time he half dragged, half carried her into the kitchen, Buffy seemed to have recovered enough to stand on her own, and was leaning against the island. Spike listened as the Slayer’s mum excused herself from the round, and then headed towards him, screwdriver thankfully absent. Meanwhile, Spike told himself he was only standing next to Buffy in case she had another little meltdown.

As soon as Joyce was back in the kitchen, Buffy launched herself at her mother, hugging her tightly. “Buffy, honey, what’s wrong? Is everything okay?”

Buffy drew back a bit, wiping at her face, only succeeding in streaking the tears across her flushed cheeks. She sighed, “It will be. Some things are happening Mom, and it’s not safe for you to be here by yourself. Do you think you could stay with one of your friends for a while?”

Joyce looked at Buffy curiously. She had to be thinking that her daughter wasn’t telling her much of anything at all, but Spike was grateful she didn’t press the issue. The mention of Giles might set the Slayer off again. “Sure honey, but Marge and Hannah were going to spend the night. They do every bridge night. Would that be okay? And then I can stay with one of them tomorrow evening?”

The Slayer nodded and Spike noted with relief that it seemed that the tears were stopping.

Spike cleared his throat, moving over to Buffy. “Sorry to ruin your night, Joyce. We’ll get out of your hair.” Placing a hand on the small of Buffy’s back he attempted to maneuver her out of the kitchen and back towards the front door. “Do us a favor and ring us at Xander’s in the morning, if it’s all the same.”

Thankfully, Buffy allowed herself to be led, saying nothing, just nodding along with Spike’s request. However the small smile of success he was trying to hide, disappeared altogether when he was cut off by a tipsy, middle aged woman making her way into the kitchen.

“Joyce how are those margarita’s coming?” She asked, appearing not to notice Buffy’s tear streaked face, or Joyce’s worried expression. No, it appeared the bint noticed nothing at all.

Except for Spike, that is.

Spike shifted uncomfortably as the woman eyed him, quite openly, up and down. Her drab curly brown hair was mussed in a fashion found only on drunks, and the hand she scrubbed through her hair as she appraised him served only to make the curls even more unruly.

“Joyce, who is this gorgeous man?”

The Slayer’s mum looked apprehensively from Buffy to Spike and then back to her friend. “Oh, Lisa this is my daughter Buffy and her-”

“Fiancé,” Spike said, hand going from Buffy’s back to snake around her waist. “William. And we were just leaving,” he said, pulling the Slayer in front of him as if to shield him from the woman.

His voice must have snapped Buffy out of her silence because the turned just slightly to look at him, eyes wide. “You are-.”

“So dead. I know luv, you didn’t want to tell anyone. But I don’t think Lisa here is going to run and tell your friends. And it’s not like Mum here didn’t know. No worries, yeah?” He winked at Lisa, and for the second time that night wrapped his arms around Buffy’s waist. *Bloke could get used to this. Warm, beautiful woman – get out of my head Slayer!*

Ending his mental tirade, he looked down at the Slayer, “but, say good bye to Mum, pet. We really need to get going, go see to da’ yeah?”

With that little reminder to Buffy, he swept past the two women in the kitchen, tugging the Slayer with him out the back door. “Don’t forget to call us in the morning, right mum?”

A swish of leather and he was gone, never noticing Joyce staring at the spot where he had been, a speculative frown on her face.

~*~


Buffy slid across the seat onto the passenger side as Spike held the door open for her. He fumbled around in his coat for a minute before producing a cigarette and lighting it before getting into the car, and placing the keys in the ignition.

She looked at him carefully for a moment, not sure what to say. Buffy had just been so relieved that her mom was alright that she didn’t know what to do. She had been convinced that the Council would go after her too. After all, they had taken Giles. She just didn’t know what they wanted with him.

Then finding her mother safe and sound had just been too much for her. The whole evening had been too much. She’d had way too many ups and downs tonight for her liking. And she *still* didn’t even know where Giles was.

She realized that somewhere along the line Spike had started staring back at her. He took a long drag, exhaling slowly. They were still sitting in her driveway, and he didn’t look as if he planned on starting the car until he finished his smoke.

Taking a deep breath, Buffy looked into the vampire’s eyes. “Spike,” she started. She really didn’t know what she wanted to say to him.

*Thanks, maybe? For rushing here with me to save my mom. Or, how about, thanks. You know, for getting us out of there before I had a total melt down. Oh, wait, I got it. How about, thanks for driving me around all night to find the man who tied you up in his bathtub and only let you shower while he held a crossbow up through the shower curtain.*

He just shook his head as she struggled to get the words out. “Don’t worry ‘bout it Slayer.” Spike started the car then, backing out of the driveway at a much slower pace then they’d been driving before. “What say we head back to the whelp’s? See if they had any luck with the locator spell. Trail’s probably cold now, yeah?”

She hadn’t taken her eyes off him since they got into the car, and still, she could only nod in response. Her mind was racing. Giles. Her mom playing bridge. Spike.

Why was he helping her? Because she promised him cash? That could be it, but somehow he seemed to have just as much at stake as she did. *Oh wow, bad pun, Buffy.*

Buffy wasn’t sure what she should do. She just knew that somewhere between finding Spike in the cemetery and standing in her Mom’s kitchen, something had shifted between them. Spike had been in control when she wasn’t.

Still, it was more then that. He had been *concerned.* And genuinely so for her mother. His relief at finding her safe had been more then sincere. Now, watching him as he made his way back to Xander’s house, Buffy couldn’t help but wonder if maybe she had underestimated Spike all these years.

Finally turning forward in her seat, she let herself melt into the leather, eyes focused absently out the window.

“Thanks,” she whispered.