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.