*****

Lynyrd Skynyrd blared from the car radio as Xander barreled down I-26. From the behavior of the local drivers, it was obvious the highway patrol wasn't paying attention to the road. Consequentially, he was doing about 85, and getting passed right and left. He yawned hugely and looked at the clock. It was nearly eight, still more than an hour before sundown. Charleston was thirty miles away, so he'd be able to find a place to stay before dark.

Xander laughed at himself. He'd left Sunnydale more than a year ago and hadn't run into a single supernatural creature since then, but he still marked the days by sunrise and sunset. He couldn't shake the habit of carrying a stake or watching everyone around him out of the corner of his eye. He hated it, really. It was just another reminder that his life was irrevocably screwed up. /I'm like one of those wacked-out ex-military guys in the movies. Always looking over my shoulder, nervous as hell./

Shaking himself out of brood-mode, the brunette flipped through the radio stations, before remembering that he'd tried the same thing an hour before. Country music stations dominated this part of the country. Until he got closer to a large city, classic rock would have to suffice. Either that or a cd. Nah, he'd make do with the radio.

A standard green highway sign announced his entrance into Charleston just as fatigue began to permanently shutter his eyes. Cheering loudly, Xander began watching for signs of suitable lodging, either a hotel or a campground. It was early enough in the year that rooms wouldn't be out of his range, and it still got cold enough that camping sounded unpleasant. A few minutes later Xander was ensconced in a small but clean room in an anonymous motor lodge. No cable television, no free ice machine, but still a deal at twenty bucks a night.

He took a quick look around the area-not the best part of town, he surmised, taking in broke-down cars, smashed windows, and run-down buildings. Spotting a now-familiar sign, he grinned. /Waffle House!/ Having secured a location for supper, the young man returned to his room for a shower and short nap.

.........

One thing that Xander had quickly come to love about the South was Waffle House. It was a cheap, greasy diner-a unique type of hell for the digestive system. But they were plentiful; he'd passed hundreds of them. They were also consistent in their fare and open all the time. Literally-he'd yet to find one that wasn't open 24-7, 365 days a year. And then there was the culture.

He'd been called honey, sugar, sweetie, baby, punkin, doll, lover, muffin, and numerous derivative permutations and combinations by the wait staff. After the first few literally gut-wrenching experiences, he'd come to crave the hash browns, waffles and coffee, which should have been sold as a purgative.

In short, he was addicted to the place, and there was one just half a block from his motel. Whistling softly, Xander strode quickly across the street, wary of the people wandering around after dark. Pulling open the diner's door, he relaxed. There weren't many people there at the moment, but enough that the counter was the only option. There was a lone, dark blonde man seated at one end of the bar. He slid into a chair on one end, as far from the counter's only other occupant as possible. Xander smiled at the waitress, ordering coffee while perusing the menu. /Not that I don't already have it memorized./

His deliberations were interrupted by a spate of cursing from the man down the counter from him. When his brain processed the words, he turned, disbelief clearly written on his face.

"Bloody hell!" The man disgustedly threw a crumpled-up newspaper onto the floor. "Tosser!" He beat his head on the counter, stopping when the waitress clucked consolingly.

"What is it this time?" She asked, filling up his coffee cup.

"Wankers think that draining the effin' swamplands won't bugger the water table. Where'd they get their environmental engineers?"

"I wouldn't get too worked up about it, sugar. They've been talking that one for decades. It never goes anywhere." She moved over to the grill, picking up someone's omelet.

The irate man lit a cigarette, glancing over at Xander. Irritation flashed across his face. "What're you looking at, ya bleedin' ponce?" He snorted and turned away, then whipped his head around. He knew that face.

Xander's brain finally reconnected with his mouth.

"Xander?"

"Spike?"

.........

Spike recovered first. "What the bloody hell are you doing here, whelp?"

Xander blinked. He hadn't seen the vampire since a couple of months before his grand exodus from Sunnydale. "Um.dinner?" /Brilliant. Real genius there./ He looked at Spike. Gone was the white-blonde, gelled hair; in its place were loose, wheat colored waves, what he guessed was Spike's natural hair. Gone, too were the solid black clothes, traded for faded blue jeans and a gray knit shirt, although the black duster remained.

The blonde snarled. "No shit. You came 2500 miles for dinner?" This was the last place in the country, hells in the world, he expected to run into a Slayerette, particularly this one. A thought occurred to him. "Something happen to the Slayer?" He tried to keep his voice neutral.

Xander's eyes narrowed. "Why do you ask?" Only he and Dawn had noticed or cared about Spike's disappearance. He'd never considered that the blonde had planned something nefarious, but maybe.

"Just that it's odd seeing one of her playtoys so far from home, that's all." /Whelp thinks I had something planned, does he?/ The idea made him grimace. No, he'd left town with his tail between his legs, licking his wounds.

"Oh. What are you doing in Charleston?"

"I asked first, mate." Spike replied, ashing his cigarette onto an empty plate.

Xander sat silently for a moment, and then was distracted by the waitress. He ordered, and then turned back to the vampire. "Got tired. The last time I tried to leave, I broke down the first day. I figured I'd give it another shot. You?"

Spike could tell he wasn't getting the whole story, but he'd let it pass. Xander had been ok with him in Sunnydale, but he wouldn't take any chances. No one in Charleston who knew he was a vampire cared about it, so the brunette was the only real threat he had here. "Same thing, really. Nothing to hold me there. Passed through the city a while back. Nice place for a vacation." Of course, he didn't give the whole truth either. Tit for tat.

"Mm hmm," Xander mumbled around his supper. Swallowing, he said, "How long have you been in town?"

Spike watched the boy shovel in the greasy food like he hadn't eaten in a while. "A while. You know, despite what some people say, the food here doesn't move. Much."

Xander grinned around a mouthful of waffle. "I know, but if you eat it like this you don't hear your arteries clogging." Spike laughed, a nice, rumbly noise.

Some sort of silent agreement had been reached by the end of Xander's meal and Spike followed him out of the diner, waving at the waitress. They crossed the street, heading in the direction of Xander's motel, when Spike stopped, lighting a cigarette and leaning up against an abandoned sewing machine shop.

"So." Xander began.

"Right. The rest?" Spike continued, exhaling away from Xander's face.

"The rest?" Xander asked, flinching at Spike's glare. "What? It's none of your business."

Spike snarled. "As long as you're here, it's my business. I like it here, but I can't stay if one of you goodie-two-shoes decides to move in and cause trouble. So, why the hell are you in Charleston?"

Xander gave up. It didn't matter anyway. "Long story." Spike nodded, motioning with one hand to continue. "About a year ago, Anya dumped me." Spike looked over sharply. He hadn't expected that. The demon girl had been happy with Xander, or at least seemed that way. "For Giles."

"Bloody hell!"

Xander grinned wryly. "'Bout sums it up."

"So you left town? Over a girl?" Not that Spike could really say anything.

"No. The whole Anya-Giles thing was just the start. Buffy and Willow couldn't leave it alone. I got tired of the jokes and the comments. Besides, I'm the zeppo. I doubt they missed me. Why am I in Charleston? It got late and I was tired. No other reason." Spike nodded. "So, Spike, oh fangless one, why are you in Charleston, flirting with the Waffle House wait staff?"

Spike shifted into gameface, growling at the derogatory nickname. "Don't call me that, whelp. 'Sides, who said I was fangless anymore?" His face twisted into a morbid parody of a smile, showing off gleaming white fangs.

Xander jumped back, and then caught himself, laughing. "Yeah, you got the chip removed. As if." Still, the mortal released a stake from its holder inside his jacket sleeve.

Spike shifted back to his human face. "No worries, mate. I'm not interested; got a full belly and all that." Xander relaxed a little, leaning back on the wall.

"So." Xander started.

Spike lit another cigarette from the stub of the last one. "Buffy tried to kill me." The statement made Xander launch off the wall, swinging to stand directly in front of the vampire.

"What?" He screeched.

Spike looked at him, his voice flat. "We were out patrolling one night. I walked her to her car, then headed back for my crypt, when something hit me-a car. She hauled me into the trunk and drove off."

"How do you know it was her? And how did she try to kill you, Spike? Getting hit by a car doesn't kill vampires." Xander asked suspiciously.

"I knew it was her because I saw her when she drug me to the trunk, cursing like a sailor. 'Sides, her car smells like her and her trunk was filled with her clothes. How'd she try to kill me? She dumped me in the middle of a field. I was awake, and she told me that I wasn't worth staking. Also said she'd love to stay and watch me fry, but I wasn't even worth the time. Then she hit me again and I passed out. Didn't wake up til almost sunrise."

Xander exhaled loudly. "How'd you survive?"

Spike looked up at the night sky. "Dug into the ground. Covered the hole with my duster. After sunset, I made it back to the crypt, packed up and hit the road. Got here a couple months later."

"When did it happen?" Xander asked.

"Labor Day." Xander thought back to that weekend. Nothing special came to mind, although Buffy had been in a very good mood for most of late summer and fall. On one hand, Xander couldn't imagine one of his friends doing something like that. On the other, he remembered how they'd treated him before Thanksgiving, as well as the Slayer's uniformly poor opinion of the blonde vampire. Still, it wasn't like Buffy to be so cruel.

"What did you do to provoke her?"

Spike snarled. "Nothing, and that's what made me leave. I didn't do a bloody thing. I wasn't even being my usual charming self. Just patrolling, playing nice. Then she goes apeshit." He tossed his cigarette away in frustration. "Not something I think about much anymore."

Xander nodded in agreement. "Me either." It was the truth; after the first few hundred miles and several states, the memories of his so-called friends' treatment of him faded. "So, what does a guy do for fun in Charleston?"

The blonde laughed. "Whatever he wants to, I suppose."

The brunette looked at him oddly. "You talk funny now. You sound like." he looked for the right words. "You're starting to sound like a southerner!" Spike just grinned. "Why?"

"Why not? I live here, y'know. Not planning on going anywhere."

Xander sputtered. "But, but you were in Sunnydale for years, and you never changed!" The vampire always talked like London gutter trash around the Scoobies.

Spike's grin widened. "And why should I have talked like you all? Hmm? 'Sides, it was part of the image, y'know. Look at the poof-you'd never know he was an Irish lad from the way he talks. Accents aren't difficult to pick up, or lose, after a while."

Xander supposed he had a point. But it was still damned strange to hear Spike's British voice tinged with the beginnings of a soft drawl. The mix was just odd, and the more relaxed Spike got around him, the more the new accent came out. Apparently, when the blonde was angry, he reverted back to his native speak.

The brunette looked at his watch. He really needed sleep. "Well, it's been grand, but I've gotta hit the sack." He turned to Spike, only to see the blonde already walking away, one hand waving over a shoulder.

Xander woke early the next day, determined to explore as much of the historic city as he could. He was still financially ok, having spent most of December and January working construction jobs further south. The pay had been good, better than he'd expected, so he wouldn't have to find more work for at least another month, maybe two if the weather warmed and he could move to more economical camping arrangements.

The brunette wondered where Spike stayed in the city. /Crypt, maybe?/ Initially, the thought of the sarcastic vampire in a genteel town like Charleston was boggling. The more he thought about it, though the less sure he was. Had he not looked over at that spate of purely British profanity, he never would have recognized the blonde menace. Something had made Spike drop his well-crafted persona. Xander wondered what that was.

.........

Much to Xander's surprise, he didn't see Spike at all over the ensuing days. After more than a month, he had almost convinced himself that he'd dreamed or hallucinated the whole encounter. It was too bad he didn't use drugs-at least then he could have blamed it on that.

Xander had really lucked out when he moved from the no-tell motel to a local campground. The elderly owners had just posted a sign for a part-time handyman and groundskeeper position, with board. While Xander had not intended to take a job for a while, the offer was too good to pass up. Free housing and a modest paycheck in exchange for four hours a day didn't seem like a bad trade off at all. Plus he might even save a little money.

Still, the young man spent most of his evenings in Charleston proper, frequenting the local bars and clubs that attracted college students and tourists alike. He told himself that it was because he was still learning to enjoy being safe at night, but the truth was he was looking for Spike. He couldn't bring himself to trust the vampire. That niggling feeling that he wasn't getting the whole story about Buffy never went away.

As luck would have it, Xander found Spike in a particularly grungy and dimly lit dance club. Had the place not looked so.dark, Xander would have laughed at the almost clich�d atmosphere. Badass vampire lurks in the shadows of a seedy dive. Yeah, right.

"Well, well. Xander Harris. Fancy meeting you here," Spike drawled.

"Spike! I see you've found your niche. Disreputable parts of Charleston, beware. Mr. Nasty on the prowl!" Xander was dismayed to see Spike recoil from his acidic humor.

"Evening." Spike turned away and headed for the door. He didn't need this shit. He'd had a long day.

"Wait up!" Xander trotted after Spike. "I was just kidding Spike. I haven't seen you around."

Spike shot him a sidelong glance. "Been busy. You?"

Xander finally caught Spike's stride and the pair strolled down the street, dodging weaving bodies. "Ah, I found a job at this campground. Groundskeeper. It's nice, lots of free time."

Spike nodded. "Sounds like something you'd like."

"So.what are you doing in Charleston, Spike?" Xander asked. He just couldn't fathom Spike here for no reason.

"I live here."

"Yeah. What else?" Xander pressed, curious.

Spike sighed. "It's none of your bloody business, Harris."

Xander bristled. "I was just asking, sheesh."

"Fine, whatever. Scurry along then." Spike waved Xander off. The human wasn't so easily deterred.

"Spike, come on. I'm trying to, you know, have a conversation. The whole 'olive branch' thing," Xander said, trying to keep up with the suddenly speed-walking vampire.

Spike turned around, now walking backwards. Xander was impressed that he didn't slow down at all when he did that. "And why, after two years of straining your first and last brain cell trying to find ways to insult, degrade and otherwise humiliate me, do you want offer up an 'olive branch?'"

Xander kept following the vampire. "Because I'm a couple thousand miles from Sunnydale and I don't have a place to call home. Because I like Charleston and you said before that we can't stay in the same place without some sort of understanding," Xander paused a moment, thinking. "And because I want to know the rest of what happened to make Buffy kick your ass and dump you in a field."

Spike nodded. He'd expected the first and last statements. Xander was far too attached to his friends not to miss them eventually. He was also loyal enough to the Slayer to not just swallow all of Spike's admittedly one-sided story. The second statement, however, surprised him. Xander was the last of the Slayerettes he'd have expected to be agreeable about coexisting with a master vampire in his own city. "Alright."

Xander was obviously not expecting Spike's acquiescence. He stumbled on the curb as Spike darted across the street, entering an alley. After struggling in the darkness, he found Spike and they continued down the alley. Xander held his tongue for as long as he could, figuring the moody vampire would say something eventually.

"Where are we going?" Xander asked, finally unable to remain silent.

"My place."

"Oh." Spike had a place? Xander knew that Spike had to have a place to pass the daylight hours, but he hadn't really thought about where Spike would live in Charleston. Maybe there were a lot of crypts. Xander had gotten into the habit of avoiding graveyards.

Spike turned suddenly, walking up a densely wooded path. Xander couldn't make out any details, but the place they were at looked like a house-an anonymous house in a row of equally average houses. He silently followed Spike up the short set of stairs and right into the front door. Either it was Spike's place or he had an invite into it.

"Home sweet home," Spike said dryly, pitching his house keys onto the sideboard. The action made Xander giggle. Never, in all the years he'd known Spike, had he ever imagined the vampire doing something so.domestic. "What?" Spike asked testily.

"Nothing," Xander replied, sobering. He looked around the house. It was sparsely decorated, with bookshelves lining the walls and a few chairs and tables scattered here and there. Most of what he could see was covered in books. "Nice place. Read much?"

Spike snorted. "More than you." He disappeared into the kitchen, returning a moment later with a couple of beers. Handing one to Xander, he popped the cap off the other and guzzled down half of it at once.

Xander followed suit, drinking slightly less quickly. He was slightly uncomfortable at the vampire's casual behavior and lack of evil-vampire-naughtiness. Spike was acting like, well, like he'd just run into an old acquaintance who had imposed on him suddenly.

"Second things first, hmm?" Spike said, settling into an old kitchen chair. Xander frowned, not following. "The understanding, mate."

"Yeah, that." What would this understanding entail?

Spike frowned. "Don't try to stake me, stay out of my business, and leave me alone."

"Huh?"

Spike rolled his eyes. "Not that difficult, pillock. You do not attempt to kill me, you refrain from interfering in my affairs, and you stay away from me."

"That's an understanding?"

"I'll stay away from you, out of your business, and will not try to kill you. Quid pro quo." Spike leaned back. This wasn't a hard concept.

Xander nodded. "So basically, I let you do your evil thing and you don't come after me?"

"Basically, although I never mentioned evil." Spike laughed mentally. If Xander only knew.

"Fine. So, what about the third part?" Xander asked, willing to accept this understanding-for now.

"Hmm? Oh, that," Spike yawned. "Sun's almost up, Xander. Come back tomorrow night." Spike got up and opened the door. Xander took the not-so-subtle message and walked out.

"I'll be back tomorrow, Spike." Xander had barely cleared the door before it slammed shut.

Spike flipped him off through the solid door, and then walked back to his office beyond the kitchen. Yawning widely, he opened his ancient roll top desk and pulled out his accounting books. Quarterly taxes were a bitch.

Xander, meanwhile, had made note of the house's address and was finding his way back to his car. Driving back to the campground, he watched the sun come up and mulled what Spike had said, and had not said. The damned vampire was a puzzle. Due to his late night activities, Xander made it back just in time to grab a shower before work. The day was spent weeding the flower beds, an activity that gave him hours to think up questions for the vampire.

.........

Evening found Xander at Spike's doorstep, carrying a six-pack of rather expensive beer. The sleep-rumpled vampire let him in wordlessly, and then ambled back into the kitchen. Long experience of the smell of it let Xander know that he'd interrupted Spike while he was heating up his breakfast. Opening a beer, he joined the vampire in the kitchen.

He'd long become inured to watching Spike drink blood, so he just leaned up against the counter and kept him company. After a few minutes, the vampire was finished with his meal, looking considerably more conscious.

"I suppose you want to talk about the third part?"

"You could say that, Spike."

"Fine. First off, though, will telling you this get you off my case?" Spike asked shortly.

Xander shrugged. He wanted to know what went on to make Buffy do that, if in fact she had done it. "Yeah, sure. Just spill."

Spike draped himself over a chair and closed his eyes. "The chip died."

Xander pushed off the counter and drew a stake out from somewhere. Spike grinned, his eyes still closed. "Don't bother, pet." Spike's lack of response, of caring, confused Xander, so he put the stake away.

"She tried to kill you because the chip stopped working?" Xander asked.

Spike finally opened his eyes. "No, she tried to kill me because I was in love with her."

Xander laughed. "No shit, Spike. We all knew that."

The vampire shook his head. "It wasn't that exactly either. I figured out the chip stopped working in Wal-Mart. I told Buffy because I thought, well, I don't know what I was thinking at the time, but I didn't expect her to go crazy like that. Turns out she was just letting me stick around because she felt sorry for me. I was a pathetic, biteless vamp." Spike retrieved a beer from the pack Xander had brought with him. "Not that I blame her. I mean, she's had unchipped, unsouled vamps lusting after her for years. Then the only one that can't hurt her gets back his bite. I guess it was a bit much for her, especially after Joyce died and left her to take care of Dawn."

Xander looked at Spike. The vampire was actually making a lot of sense. "You've had a lot of time to think about this, haven't you?" Spike nodded. "I thought so, 'cause you've almost convinced yourself that she was justified. Not that she wasn't, of course."

"Of course," Spike repeated quietly. They sat silently for a while, sipping their beers and pointedly not talking. Xander had nothing to say. After all, it was Spike that Buffy had tried to kill. The whole love's bitch thing just kept biting Spike in the ass. If he hadn't been in the same boat himself, more than once, he'd have laughed his ass off at the vampire. As it was, he could only feel lucky that his latest ex hadn't tried to off him in cruel and unusual ways.

"Hungry?" Spike asked after a while. Xander surprised himself by nodding. Then again, he hadn't eaten earlier.

"Come on, then." Spike led Xander out of the house through a side door. Xander had expected Spike to still be driving some sort of land yacht, so he was rather surprised to find that Spike drove a pale yellow Subaru. It wasn't new, either.

"Um, Spike?" Xander said, looking askance at the car.

"Don't say a word, Baggy. Not one word." Spike unlocked the car for Xander.

The car drove surprisingly well, and Spike was a boringly safe driver. It was mind-boggling for Xander. Spike was supposed to drive like a maniac, in some dangerous behemoth, not a well-maintained and sensible if frighteningly ugly Japanese car.

Spike didn't say a word until they pulled into the Waffle House parking lot. "Get out."

Xander obediently exited the car, looking forward to their meal. "I get the feeling you come here a lot."

"So?" Spike said absently. "Just a place to eat."

"But you're a vampire."

Spike grinned. "Just means I don't have to worry about having a coronary from the food, pet."

Inside, Xander watched as Spike was greeted like a regular. It was another piece of the Spike puzzle Xander was trying to put together. He still didn't have enough pieces, and what he did have didn't make much sense.

"How ya doin' tonight, sugar?" The waitress asked Spike.

"Fair to middlin', Paula. Double order, scattered, smothered, covered, diced, peppered, and a cup of half-caf." Spike settled into a booth, waiting for Xander to join him.

Once Xander remembered he was supposed to sit down, he did so and ordered waffles, eggs, grits and full-bore coffee. The waitress brought their coffee, and then hung around for several minutes gossiping with Spike. Apparently the vampire knew all the local scuttlebutt and wasn't reluctant to share it.

"Y'ok, pet?" Spike asked as their food was placed before them.

Xander shook his head. "I'm just wondering when I'm going to either wake up or come down."

Spike laughed out loud. "What? I'm not allowed to have a 'normal' life?"

"I thought a normal life for you was murder, mayhem and slaughter," Xander replied.

Spike grinned. "Tell me, pet, would most of the world think things like me are fantasy if every vampire had my old bloodlust?"

Xander considered it. "But you like doing those things."

"Did you ever like, say, ringing doorbells and then running away?" Spike said in return.

"When I was eight or so," Xander answered. "What, you're saying you've grown up?"

"I don't know if I'd go that far, but blood and guts doesn't hold the same appeal that it used to. Vamps and demons don't hold the patent on nastiness anymore, so what's the point? Besides, living like this puts me out of the way of stake-happy slayers." Spike quit talking to eat.

Xander did the same, still mulling over what Spike said. He still suspected that he was either asleep or high. This was just too surreal.

.........

Xander continued his unusual relationship with Spike over the ensuing months. They met at either Spike's place or the Waffle House, mostly shooting the bull and discussing local politics. Spike seemed very knowledgeable about the goings-on of Charleston, and couldn't resist a good verbal sparring.

Xander, meanwhile, had been elevated to a permanent groundskeeper position at the campground. He was given his own residence there, along with more money and more responsibilities. He liked the work; it didn't require a lot of thought and he got to be outdoors a lot of the time.

Still, he was curious about what Spike did in Charleston. It was obvious he had some money, either earned or ill-gotten. Under other circumstances, Xander would have just assumed that Spike had stolen it. However, considering what he'd seen and heard since getting to Charleston, it wouldn't surprise him if Spike was employed somehow.

Which is what brought Xander to where he was tonight. It was an evening that Spike had declined to share with him. He'd done that a few times a month, and it piqued Xander's curiosity. So Xander decided to follow Spike, to see where he went.

Xander had also suspected that Spike drove like a granny to piss Xander off. Now he knew better. Spike always drove very carefully. Xander was following him down the street. He quickly realized that Spike's destination would be Waffle House. He was about to just go home when he decided to stick it out.

Spike got out of the car and waltzed inside as if he owned the place. From his car Xander could see Spike take a seat and accept a cup of coffee. Then Xander watched as the manager sat down with Spike. The vampire pulled a sheaf of papers out of his duster and spread them on the table.

Soon the manager and Spike were talking animatedly and pointing to various graphs and charts. One after another, all of Xander's possible explanations for this encounter flew out the window. Spike wasn't threatening or cajoling-this wasn't blackmail or planning a crime. Had Spike been human, Xander would have said he was at a business meeting.

After about three hours, Spike shook hands with the manager and left. Once he was out of sight in that ugly car, Xander went inside and ordered dinner. As the food was being prepared, he asked a waitress, specifically a new one, who owned the restaurant.

He was expecting to hear the manager's name. "Oh, this British guy.I think the cook calls him Spike."

Xander choked on his sweet iced tea. "Spike?"

Misunderstanding him, the waitress nodded. "Kind of an odd nickname, don't you think?"

Spike owned the Waffle House? A vampire owned a diner franchise? It floored Xander. Well, no wonder he comes here all the time, Xander thought idly. He owns the damned place.

The next night, Xander didn't bother calling the vampire, deciding to corner him in his house instead. He showed up a good hour before sunset, when he knew Spike would be well within the confines of his heavily draped home.

The sun was low enough, however, for Spike to answer the door. Instead of opening it, he simply shouted through it.

"Whoever it is, go away," Spike snarled. Xander could tell he was barely awake. He just loved making Spike get up. It was so mean.

"It's me, Spike. Open up," Xander said.

Spike cracked the door open, then walked back into the house, muttering "I knew that, dumbass," behind him. Xander let himself in, closing the door securely behind him. Spike didn't leave his house open very often.

"So, Spike, what's up for tonight?" Xander asked cheerfully, helping himself to a beer.

Spike ignored him, looking for some coffee. He finally realized the pot hadn't been turned on and did so, having filled it the morning before. Once the aroma of the brew filled the room, he squeezed off a cup and threw it back, not even wincing at the pain of hot coffee searing his throat.

"Go away, Xander," Spike said. He didn't mind the boy's company, most of the time, but he had the odd feeling that Xander was gearing up to be more annoying than usual.

Xander fake-pouted. "Awww.Spike doesn't want to play with his friends?"

Spike gestured rudely. "We can play all you like, Xander, but I didn't think you were the type."

Xander recoiled at the insinuation. Nope, he definitely didn't want to play-whatever games vampires liked to play.not even with Spike, the Waffle House owner. Which brought him back to why he was here, interrupting Spike's beauty sleep.

"Actually, I was wondering if you could give me some advice," Xander said.

"Don't get the clap," Spike shot back, pouring another cup of coffee.

"Uh huh," Xander mumbled, wondering if this was really worth the trouble. "I was thinking of going into business."

"Don't," Spike replied, downing more of the caffeine-providing beverage. He almost felt, well, conscious.

"Cause, see, I'd like to be an entrepreneur," Xander continued, proud that he'd not tripped over the big word. "Maybe go into franchising."

A mental trip wire was touched off in Spike's brain, although it was still too vague for him to interpret. "And you want my advice why?" Spike asked, unknowingly setting himself up.

Xander grinned. "Well, you seem to be doing really well in the slum-lord, Waffle-House-owner business, so I figured you could give me heaps of good advice about the ups and downs of doing business out in the real world!"

Spike stared. Somehow, the whelp had found out about the diner. Shit, shit, shit. Spike set down his half-empty coffee cup before he threw it at the boy. Then, he leaned back against the counter and put on his best 'I don't give a damn about you' face.

"You want advice? On how to start a business?" Spike summarized.

Xander nodded enthusiastically. "I mean, Waffle House is way cool! The real top-of-the-heap in restaurant franchises and a possible star on my business resume. With that on my record, who knows, Anya might take me back. Being a man of the world, with his own income, being his own boss, that's quite an accomplishment."

Spike rolled his eyes. Whatever. "Xander, I really don't have time for this," Spike began, only to be cut off by Xander's prattle.

"Well, look at you. Man about town, great car, house of your own, not rolling drunks for blood money anymore. Hells, you don't even have to sell your 'services' to us to stay alive! Buffy loves an independent man, one who's not hanging all over her for every breath. I bet she'd really go for you right now, Spike," Xander said gleefully. This was so much fun!

Spike's eyes widened almost imperceptibly, so slightly Xander didn't notice. What he did notice was that all of a sudden, his beer was sitting on the counter and he was moving very quickly toward the front door-and not of his own volition.

Spike shifted his burden so that he could pull the door open. Once he had it where he could move through, he stepped out onto the porch and pitched Xander over the railing, right onto the freshly mulched and fertilized flower bed he'd had the gardener put in.

"What the hell was that for?" Xander said angrily, brushing manure off his clothes.

Spike just stared, jaw locked in fury. After a moment, he spoke. "Stay away, Xander. Don't ever, *ever* come back here," Spike spat. "And you'd better be sure I never see you, not anywhere, not even on accident. Cause this chip," he tapped his head for emphasis, "doesn't work anymore, and I do."

Spike turned and began to walk into the house, but stopped and looked back at Xander. "I warned you to stay out of my business. You should have listened, Xander."

The door slammed shut and the lock clicked into place, leaving Xander with no illusions as to his status as a welcome visitor at Spike's house. He'd been quite literally thrown out on his ass.

Xander walked back to his car and drove home, no longer in the mood for fun. He hadn't meant to anger Spike.well, he hadn't meant to really hurt the vampire. He just wanted to poke fun at him. After all, the guy, a master vampire with the world at his feet, owned a Waffle House-the epitome of low-class, proletarian chow houses. It was worth a laugh or two to Xander, but not, apparently, for Spike.

Now he'd managed to piss off the only real friend he'd made in Charleston. It didn't make him feel very good have hit a weak spot for Spike, but he probably should have known that mentioning Buffy was a bad idea. He'd never been the brightest guy, but he wasn't stupid. Well, not usually.

How was he going to fix this?

.........

Xander spent more than two weeks studiously avoiding every place he and Spike had frequented together, before easing back into his regular schedule. He figured it would take at least that long for the hot-headed vampire's ire to cool to where he didn't try to kill him. Xander hadn't worried about Spike's threats until some time after the vampire had chucked him out of his home, and even then hadn't given them serious consideration. Spike himself had said that he was pretty well bored with the evil-villain thing, so why would he go after Xander?

So it was nearly three weeks after that that Xander got up the gumption to go see Spike. This time, though, he decided to wait until just after sunset, when Spike would be a bit more awake and less irritable-if such a thing was possible.

To his surprise, Spike actually opened the door when he opened it. What surprised him more was that Spike was already talking to him when the door opened.

".told you to stay away, you stupid git. You must be dumb as a rock not to have gotten the hint, Xander. Get away from me. Stay away from me. If you don't get the hell off my property, I will kill you. What part of this do you not understand?"

Xander flinched. "I'msorryIsaidthosethingsSpikeIdidn'tmeantohurtyourfeelings," Xander mumbled.

"I don't care if you're sorry. Your pathetic little apologies mean damned little to me," Spike ground out. When Xander didn't just disappear, he continued. "Look, you damned fool idiot, I will rip your heart out and feed on it if you don't get gone!"

Spike slammed the door, the lock rattling with the intensity with which he engaged it. Xander stepped back from the porch, staring at the door from the sidewalk. Spike's voice rang out from behind the door.

"I said gone and I meant gone!"

Xander still stared, wondering if there was a way he could salvage this, or if he needed to leave town immediately. Spike had seemed really serious about that whole dismemberment thing.

He stood there for a long time, trying to think of what to do. Xander was so deep in thought that he didn't notice the police cars pulling up in front of Spike's place until three uniformed officers came up to him.

"Sir, you need to leave this property immediately," One of them said, while another went to the door. Spike opened it, coming out to answer the officer's questions.

"Um, Spike? What's going on?" Xander called out, confused. Surely Spike hadn't called the cops. That would be way too much.

"Please refrain from speaking to Mr. Sutton, sir. And please step off his property. You're trespassing," The officer said patiently.

The officer who was talking to Spike finished up rather quickly and joined his fellows. "Mr. Harris, we're going to have to ask you to leave this property, and I'd advise you not to bother Mr. Sutton again, either at his home or place of work. If you can't do that, Mr. Sutton will have every right to file a restraining order against you."

The third officer took hold of Xander's arm when he failed to comply. Xander didn't fight him, just began to walk toward his car, his head spinning. Spike had called the cops on him? Ok.now he knew he was dreaming. Spike did not call the police. Ever.

When Xander got back to the campground, he lit into his beer supply with a vengeance. His life in Charleston had never been exactly normal, what with the buddy-thing going on with Spike, but this was over the top. A master vampire who had tried to kill him more than once just called the cops to have him hauled off his property. And the cops had done it!

All of a sudden, Xander really wanted to go home to Sunnydale, where cops were good people who helped good people and vampires were bad people you staked and left for dust. This vampire-as-normal-guy stuff was freaky.

.........

Xander wandered through downtown Charleston, dodging fellow pedestrians and trying to blend in. He was bored, desperately so. Going out on the town wasn't as much fun when he was by himself, and Spike had made it clear that his company was no longer welcome. That left Xander back to hanging out by himself again, wandering from bar to bar.

Dinner ended up being a reminder to Xander of why he didn't go out by himself very much. Eating alone at a place like the WH was all well and good, and nobody questioned you. But when a single guy walks into a nice, trendy restaurant by himself, he either gets hit on by the wait staff, becomes the focus of odd stares, or, in Xander's case, is seated by the kitchen. Applebee's had turned out to be a poor choice. It also had all the local flavor of cardboard. Next time, he was trying one of those historic places he'd seen in a brochure.

After his disappointing meal, Xander decided to walk around Charleston, enjoying the relatively warm if damp weather. Cadets roamed around, their uniforms what Xander considered an anachronistic amusement. He couldn't imagine wearing one of those for even five minutes. The girls seemed to like them, though.

Xander headed down King Street, toward Marion Square. He'd been to it once or twice and figured at least the walk would prove to be good exercise. He eyed the attractions that littered the area, noting that maybe he should develop a taste for tourism and history. If Willow was here, she'd be living in the Museum. Oh well. Xander would rather catch a game of mini-golf. Maybe that was why they didn't see eye-to-eye on a lot of things.

A well-placed, fat raindrop told Xander that his wonderful evening weather was about to change. He looked about for cover, hoping that he'd find some before the storm hit. He really wished he'd checked the forecast before coming out. Oh well.

Unfortunately, Xander was unable to find an awning or welcoming-looking porch before the skies opened above him. Rain fell down in opaque sheets, hitting him with fierce intensity. He was sure bruises would form where the water pelted his shoulders, it was falling so hard. Xander didn't even try to huddle or cover up-it was far too late for that. Shrugging his shoulders at what had turned out to be a rather awful evening, he turned around to go back home.

Xander was just about to cross Ann St. when a car approached the intersection. He ran through the street, managing to get across the road and avoid the huge puddle of water that had formed during the heavy rains. He stopped at the corner, glancing at the car that was slowing to turn. Just as he turned around, the driver hit the gas, turning quickly onto King. Xander had no time to move before an enormous sheet of water splashed over him from where the car had gone through the water. He wiped his face off and glared at the car as it drove away. Xander's jaw dropped when he saw a very familiar yellow Subaru. "Spike!" He yelled.

Cursing virulently, Xander threw every insult he knew at the vampire. First he overreacts to a little prodding, then he not only doesn't offer a ride to a stranded friend in the rain, he makes sure to hit him with nasty, dirty street-water. When Xander got back to his car, he was finding a stake and dusting that good-for-nothing bloodsucker.

Xander looked around the street. The rain wasn't letting up at all, and he was getting cold. The surprise shower from Spike wasn't helping any. Growling in disgust and misery, Xander decided to try his luck finding someplace to get inside. He headed up Ann Street, hoping that something was open and not averse to dripping wet people.

His quest was brought short by the sound of laughter. Turning toward it, he found a bunch of guys staring at him, smart-ass grins on their faces. "What?" He snarled nastily.

One of them quirked an eyebrow in a very Spikeish fashion. "Nothing. Just admiring the 'drowned rat' look. Very charming."

Xander straightened his shoulders. He really wasn't in the mood for this shit. "Yeah?" He replied, walking over to the guys. He reached out and pulled the one who'd spoken out into the rain, easily holding him as he struggled to get away. Xander didn't let go until he noticed that he was attracting attention, and not the good kind. Several really big men were looking a bit put out at his behavior. Xander decided that retreating wasn't a bad idea, so he let the asshole go and took off at a run.

"Bigot," he heard muttered behind him as he left. What the hell was that for, Xander thought as he turned back onto King. Southerners were strange.

Back at the campground, Xander stripped off his destroyed clothes and took a hot shower, hoping to get rid of the by now semi permanent shivers he'd developed on the long walk back to his car. He'd originally planned to spend tomorrow, Sunday, out enjoying his free time out and about, but the evenings' events had convinced him to stay in.

.........

Autumn crept into Charleston, cooling off the days and lengthening the nights. Xander's work at the campground changed from taking care of the property to repairing travel trailers. He wasn't too happy about that, since repairing all things mechanical was not something he was particularly apt at. Despite the secure nature of the job, and the perk of no-cost housing, he began to consider finding something else.something that paid enough to let him rent a real apartment.

It was when those thoughts became pretty firm that Xander realized he had no intention of leaving Charleston-ever. His current feud with Spike aside, Xander found the city addicting. There wasn't much about the place he didn't like, in fact. That was why he found himself reading help wanted ads in the local newspaper. He knew that finding a job he could stand would be a challenge, particularly since he had nothing beyond high school. Attending college had crossed his mind more than once, but it would have to wait until he had some sort of positive cash flow going.

Actually, being a groundskeeper really suited him. Fortunately, Charleston had a lot of high-maintenance properties-parks, golf courses, high-end residences. There were even positions on restoration and construction crews he could try. Nah, he'd done the construction thing in Sunnydale. He could still hear echoes of Anya complaining about gypsum powder in his clothes.

After a few hours of looking, Xander had a dozen or so places that looked promising. He showered and dressed in his absolute best khakis and most conservative loud shirt and struck out job-hunting.

The first place, a golf course, took one look at him and said no. Apparently his best wasn't good enough, and he had no experience. The second and third golf courses said the same thing, so Xander crossed the other one off his list and decided that maybe he should shoot lower.

He figured the city wouldn't mind how he looked, and they may have not cared, but the guy he was supposed to talk to had broken his leg the night before when he tripped on a washed-up toilet seat on the beach, so there wouldn't be any interviewing that day. That knocked out three more positions of various kinds.

Somewhat dismayed, Xander stopped for lunch before deciding what to do next. He had six jobs left to look at. Four of them had been last-minute 'why not' picks-more along the lines of temporary work. He didn't really want to work in fast food, regardless of the pay.

The remaining two were grounds keeping positions for private homeowners. The jobs invoked images of the hunky, surprisingly intellectual lawn boys that starred in the harlequin novels Anya liked. Xander figured, though, that that wouldn't be what he'd end up with at all. Nope, these were probably manure-shoveling positions.

Xander was suitably impressed by the.house he found at the address on South Battery. Miss Scarlett would have drooled over this mansion. Hells, Xander was drooling over the impressive home. They would never hire him. They might call the cops just because he knocked on their door. Thinking of 'Gone With the Wind' had images of servants' quarters and slaves.shaking off depressing thoughts, he decided to give it a shot.

He was about to knock on the front door when an idea struck. A place like this was sure to have some sort of.other entrance for not-guests.like deliverymen and household employees. What if they didn't want him to go to the front door? Xander was still pondering such questions when the door opened.

"May I help you?" An older man in a butler's uniform asked. Xander stared. There was no way this place had a butler.

"Groundskeeper," Xander muttered softly. From what he could see, the inside of the house looked like a movie set. There was a grand, curving stair case and what appeared to be antique furniture. He had no idea what kind, since his tastes ran along the lines of Goodwill.

"I see," The butler responded dryly. He led Xander to a formal sitting room of sorts and disappeared. Xander decided to play it safe and just not touch anything. It all looked really expensive-and very clean.

The sound of heels clicking caught his attention. Xander turned around to find himself facing a tall, elderly woman, who returned his stare with great amusement.

"You are a groundskeeper?" The lady said, the words nearly hidden by a strong drawl.

Xander nodded. He felt like he'd fallen into a movie. "Um, yeah. Well, I do ok outside, with plants and things." Damn, he sounded like an idiot.

"I see," The lady responded, quirking an eyebrow. "You're rather young for a gardener. Come along, then." She turned and click-clicked down the hallway. Xander started after her, having to jog to keep up. He'd never figured out how women walked so fast in heels.

The lady allowed the butler to open a pair of wide doors, revealing a lush garden. Xander followed her outside, taking in the exotic flowers and trees. He was way out-classed here.

"Well?" The lady asked pointedly. She glanced around the garden, waiting for Xander to start talking.

Xander looked at her quizzically for a moment. What did she want? After a moment, lightening struck. Oh, yeah. He was supposed to be a groundskeeper. "Um.you're grass is in pretty bad shape." She looked unimpressed.

Gathering up his nerve, Xander knelt down at the edge of the brick patio. "At the minimum, it needs coring, fertilizing, lime and reseeding. What would be better is just ripping it up, putting in new soil, and seeding something other than Bermuda grass. It's not really appropriate here. Maybe something better for shade.bluegrass unless there's a lot of traffic around here."

He stood up and walked out onto the grass, approaching the bordered flower areas. "The Bermuda grass is taking over the flowerbeds, which also need work. These and these," Xander indicated, "are better for arid climates. The ground's too moist. That's why they're yellow and spotty. Besides, they don't really match the house at all."

Xander turned back to the lady, who waved him on. "The privet over there needs to go. It's also wrong for the place and besides, it's going to try to compete with the old-growth stuff here and there. It's also too tall and trimmed poorly."

Now on a roll, he kept on going. "The roses are ok, but they don't blend well with some of the other flowers-they're pretty and all but the foliage leaves something to be desired. I'd keep the best and chuck the others."

"And the pond needs a complete overhaul. It looks like the creature from the black lagoon lives there. Maybe a fountain would look good. And there's no use of accent plants around the thing, so it kind of resembles a public swimming pool. The fake-marble Greek reproductions are hideous. Maybe some bronzes-animals, or less outrageous classical ones."

He stopped for breath, only to be interrupted by the owner. "Where have you worked?"

Xander shifted uncomfortably. "Paine's campground and RV park, as well as construction andsomeothergonowherejobs."

The raised eyebrow returned. "I see. Where, may I ask, did you learn gardening?"

"Here and there," Xander hedged.

"Hmm.do you know how many people have applied for this position?" She asked.

Oh well, it was worth a shot. Maybe the next place would work out. "I have no idea," Xander replied.

"Twenty-five, and you're the first one to say that those godawful plaster statues should go. You're hired," She proclaimed shortly. "Lavinia Astor."

"Xander Harris," he answered automatically, shocked that he'd gotten the job.

"Alexander?" She inquired.

"Yeah."

"Excellent. Nicknames are all well and good, but gods forbid your parents actually name you that," She said lightly, leading him back into the house. "There's all sorts of paperwork, but you can get that from Binky."

"Binky?" Xander said blankly.

"Arlo," The butler said sharply, having appeared out of nowhere.

"Binky," Lavinia replied absently.

"Arlo," he repeated.

"Arlo," Xander said. It didn't matter what Lavinia said, he wasn't calling the butler 'Binky.' Maybe she could get away with it, but he wasn't going to test his luck.

"Binky, make sure he's legal and whatnot. I've got tea with the bluehaired bitches from the historical society," Lavinia said as she walked out the door. "Jeeves!"

"Jeeves?" Xander asked.

Arlo rolled his eyes. "Matthew, or Matt, the chauffeur. Mrs. Astor gives everyone nicknames. If you remain here long enough, you too will earn one of the odious things."

"I see," Xander said, echoing Lavinia.

Arlo ended up to be a nice guy-not nearly as stuffy as he'd imagined butlers to be. The man introduced Xander to the cook Steve, called Turnip, and the housekeeper Sara, called Feather. They were nice but a bit distant. After that, Arlo showed Xander the groundskeeper's workshop and quarters. That had come as a surprise-he'd not been expecting to have housing available. Arlo assured him it was optional, but the apartment built above the equipment house was just what he wanted.

Finally, though, Xander convinced Arlo to let him go. He needed to tell his old boss that he'd found a job, so that he could clear out. Xander had already given notice, so it wouldn't be a problem.

By the time evening had fallen, Xander and his meager belongings were moved into the little apartment and his car was parked in a garage stall alongside Lavinia's Bentley. His little knockabout was deemed too disreputable to be left in plain sight. He wasn't a bit surprised. It did look sort of beat-up.

Xander was too excited to sleep, so he spent the night studying what little information Arlo had had on the property's landscaping. He'd also explained that Lavinia had been busy taking care of her now-late father for the past year and had just gotten to where the garden had become a priority. The last gardener had taken advantage of her father's illness and had nearly ruined the place, and her father's tastes left something to be desired anyway. Xander had his work cut out for him.

.........

"Fleur!"

Xander winced at the shrill voice calling out for him. It figured that just as soon as he got knee-deep in fertilizer, Lavinia would want to talk to him. Sighing, he scraped off what he could and walked to the edge of the patio.

"You don't want me coming inside, Mrs. Astor," Xander yelled back.

Lavinia stepped out the door, not bothering to suppress a smirk at his state. "You've got a point there, Fleur. But what the hell are you thinking? I've got a dinner party next week and you're dumping shit in my yard!"

"It'll be fine by then, Mrs. Astor. I promise," Xander replied, smiling gamely.

She snorted, but didn't complain. "Fine, and why don't you bring in some of those pretty flowers by the pond?"

Xander laughed after she walked back inside. The lady was a trip, to be sure. On the one hand, she exuded old-school Southern charm, while on the other hand she exhibited all the cutthroat coldness that had made her an excellent lawyer in New England. Still chuckling, he returned to his work, spreading organic fertilizer underneath the many shrubs, flowers and trees in the garden.

He'd spent the last eight months building the garden from the ground up. During autumn and winter he'd planned and schemed. He'd also dug up nearly two-thirds of what had been planted there, replacing dying, straggly or just plain ugly stuff with better choices. Once the weather was right, he redid the lawn itself, as well as the pond. Finally the place was looking like it should. It would be a few years before the smaller plants caught up and filled out, but that didn't matter at all.

For some of the larger work he'd contracted with a local landscaping company. After they'd finished helping him with the heavy stuff, he asked Lavinia why she didn't just hire one of those companies to do all the garden work. After all, they were professionals and quite popular with some of her peers. She'd replied that she preferred someone who worked only for her-who didn't make a commission on any particular thing, and who wouldn't go around to her neighbors gossiping about what she did or didn't do. Some of the 'bluehairs' she liked to harp on were quite competitive about everything. Lavinia wanted a garden she enjoyed-not one that everyone felt envious of.

Xander intended for both to occur. The old lady engendered a lot of loyalty in her staff, mostly because she didn't really treat them like staff at all. Xander and the others were more like her siblings and children. They were even invited (required) to eat supper in the main house, at the dining room table, with Lavinia about three times per week. It wasn't a show of magnanimity on her part; she simply liked having someone to gossip with over a meal, and the hired help was, according to her, better company than most of her peers.

It was no wonder all of those vaunted peers found her so.interesting. She was a little bit of every eccentric old lady Xander had ever seen in the movies. At least she didn't have a poodle that she pampered and that tore up the garden.

The dinner party, though, had Xander a bit worried. Lavinia had asked him to attend-serve drinks and whatnot, she'd said-for extra pay, of course. That meant getting fitted for a 'dinner jacket,' which meant tuxedo to Xander. He wasn't sure he was cut out to mingle with society types, but what the hell. The last tux he'd worn had been rented, so actually owning one (well, sort of) was a thrill in and of itself.

*****