***************************************

So she has Willow find out where Xander's living.

Willow tried a locator spell with Spike, too, but no luck; he knows people who can deflect that type of thing. Xander, though, has been out of the game for years now, and Willow found him with no difficulty. He's in a part of Silverlake that hasn't been yuppified yet, a run-down stucco rancher with a leaning fence and empty beer bottles on the porch.

Buffy knocks. There's a beater parked at the curb so she knows someone's home, but it takes longer than it should for the door to open. Buffy has to rein in her gasp when she sees him.

He's clearly hung over. Bloodshot eyes, slack mouth, a yellowing tinge to his skin. He stares at her muzzily, no surprise or joy or hate in his gaze. Finally he says, "Willow ought to mind her own business."

"I asked her to find you."

"Why?" He wipes a hand across his mouth. "Some big evil making its yearly visit? Screw you, Buff. My days of self-sacrifice are over."

"Dawn's missing. I think she's with Spike and I have to find her. Them."

"Good luck with that." He moves to close the door but Buffy sticks a foot out. "You smell like a brewery," she tells him.

"Not a big hit with the gals, I'll admit, but I'm more of a solitary man these days anyway. Me and Johnny Cash." He adds more effort into shutting the door, puts his shoulder into it. Buffy does the same, and now they're nose-to-nose.

"I need somewhere to stay, Xander!"

"Try the Y."

She thought that he might not want her around, that he'd send her away, but now that she's seen him she's not leaving. How did they let him fall this far? She should have come out here sooner, should have dragged him back to London and Willow and people who loved him, should have should have should have...

Spike would scoff at her regrets. Fine, he'd say, but what are you gonna do now, Slayer? She gives the door one mighty shove and pushed her way past Xander into the dim and musty house. Xander stares after her dumbly. Lucky for her his reflexes have been dulled by drink; his last years in Sunnydale he'd gotten solid and strong and she can still make out the ghosts of muscles beneath his ratty t-shirt.

"Go take a shower," she tells him. "I'm going to make something to eat, once I sterilize every single object in this house."

"Leave me alone, Buffy."

"No!" She whirls on him. "I'm going to find Dawn, and you're going to stop drinking, and we're all going to fucking heal!" She bites her lip. That last part just kind of slipped out.

Xander looks at her for a long time, then shakes his head. "Sure, Buff. Whatever you say." He disappears into the bathroom.

***

True to his word, Spike makes a few phone calls on Dawn's problem. Dawn herself mentions it - in the vaguest of terms - to her Frovlax boss, who's endearingly protective of her. After a couple of days they've actually made progress.

"Gonna meet this - what'd Elliott call him?"

"Liaison."

"Gonna meet this liaison Friday night, top of Mt. San Antonio."

"Why there?" Dawn asks as they pass a bag of tortilla chips between them.

"Says it's the highest point in L.A. County. The thinner the air, the better he can sense competing auras." Spike frowns. "Or something. Anyway, he's gonna do a bit of spiritual fumegation, right? And then we can drop-kick the Immortal straight down to hell where he belongs. Sound like a plan?"

Dawn's spine stiffens against the couch cushions. "First of all, this liaison guy didn't say he could fix the problem. He said he'd try to understand what was going on; why I'm being followed. Second of all, I don't want the Immortal in hell! He saved me!"

Spike doesn't understand why she kept coming back to that. "Okay, yeah, he saved you. Now he's trying to gaslight you and ensure that I never have a woman stay over at my place again, to boot. Can we agree that he's not got his hero cape on these days?"

Dawn sighs. "He scares me, and I'm sure he wants to hurt me, but...I get where he's coming from. Face it, Spike. If I'd somehow managed to kill you, you'd haunt the hell out of me."

"Well, yeah," Spike says reasonably. "But we'd still have fun together. Watch TV, explode things. Normal stuff. None of this stalking bullshit."

"I appreciate it. Seriously, Spike, don't get all crazy on me. At least not until we find out more. Okay?"

Spike glares but doesn't argue. Dawn develops a newfound respect for Buffy. Trying to get Spike to stick to a course of action is like trying to explain to a four-year-old the value of a 401(k). But he's helping her, and he doesn't have to. God knows he's not doing it for Buffy, and he doesn't seem to need the excitement. Dawn's grateful.

"You've turned into a good man," she says.

He grabs another enormous handful of chips. "Took long enough."

Part 5: Do Right Woman, Do Right Man