•••

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 clichéd 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.