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Hours later, Spike returned to the room and saw Buffy still lying on the bed, curled up and staring at an imperfection on the wall.

“Hungry, love?” he asked quietly, and when she didn’t answer, he walked closer to the bed and crouched down in front of her. “Buffy?”

“Did my dad really murder your friend?” she asked, not looking at him.

“Yes,” he answered, tilting his head. “We didn’t do anything to him- he shot Xander and got us in a mess of trouble. Well, no more trouble than I’ll probably be in after this mess is over.”

“Were you two close? You and Xander?” she asked curiously, and he nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault,” he replied, managing a weak smile. “But you told me that before.” She looked at him with sad eyes.

“If this was never about me, couldn’t you have figured out another way to get money from him?” she asked. “By blackmailing him somehow for shooting your friend?”

“Do you really think cops would believe any of us? Angel, Gunn, and I aren’t really outstanding members of society, as it is, and no one would believe a word we’d say against Hank because he sent us to jail for half a decade- we could be lying just to try to enact some revenge.”

“Dad has a security camera in his office ceiling- wouldn’t a tape prove that you guys weren’t threatening him?” she asked curiously, and he sighed.

“The tape didn’t have sound,” he replied. “And from the angle it filmed at, it looks as though I’m about to attack him. The tape didn’t help our case at all.”

“It seems like trying to steal a painting from him ended up being a very horrible decision,” she said, looking away. “One you will have to live with for the rest of your life. The consequences, I mean.”

“What, like being sent to jail?” he asked. “Losing Xander was like losing a brother. He was my best friend, and I owe him a lot.” He looked away. “I wish Hank had shot me, not Xander.”

“Don’t say that,” she replied, and he looked at her, frowning.

“Why not? What makes you think my life is more worthy of living than Xander’s?” he asked sharply. “He was engaged- his wedding was supposed to be three months after the plan was to take place. We were trying to steal the painting so we could all make money from it, money he was going to use for the wedding and his future with his wife. His intentions for the money were noble and valid, whereas I was just going to send myself back to London to track down my worthless ponce of a father.”

“Your father’s a bastard, too?” she asked, and he moved to sit down on the bed, beside her.

“He was,” he answered. “He died while I was in prison.” He took a deep breath before continuing, “He left my mum when he found out she was pregnant with me and didn’t try to contact her at all after my birth. Not until she died and left me to live on my own at age sixteen. That’s when he found me and made me live with him, since I was a minor and wasn’t likely to survive by myself.”

“Let me guess- living with him didn’t work out so well?” she asked, and he scoffed.

“Bleeding nightmare,” he replied, looking away. “He was verbally abusive, and on the rare occasions he was physically abusive, I was hurt so bad that I had to be sent to a hospital. But he never apologized, not once.” He sighed and wished he had a pack of cigarettes on him. “He sent me a letter a couple weeks before his death, telling me I was a waste and the most pathetic excuse for a son, how much he wished that I had never been born.”

Buffy could hear him choking up a bit and looked at him, surprised to see that his eyes were becoming watery.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly, and he waved it off, looking down.

“There’s nothing saying he was wrong about me,” he replied. “Maybe I am really a waste.”

“No one is a waste,” she said firmly. “Don’t ever think that.”

“Why are you being nice to me?” he asked, looking at her, and she shrugged.

“You’re not being that horrible to me, so why not return the favor?” she asked, and he smiled meekly. “So, when did your life pick up a bit?”

“I ran away from home one night when my father had passed out, extremely drunk, and stole all the money he kept in the house,” he explained, smirking at the memory. “I had just enough to send me to Los Angeles, where I met Xander. He worked at a wretched bar in the downtown area and managed to get me a job as a bartender. It’s because of him that I even lasted as long as I did here. If he hadn’t helped me, I would be a bum in a box somewhere, if not dead.” She nodded and looked down. “He met his fiancé there- she was a waitress. They were incredibly happy together, almost as if they lived in a fairy tale.” He made a face. “A kind of poor fairy tale, but you get what I mean.”

“What happened to his fiancé? After he died?” she asked, looking at him.

“She was devastated,” he answered, tilting his head back so it rested against the wall behind him. “She quit working at the bar and tried living on her own, but I don’t think that worked out. Last I heard, she got into drugs and alcohol and was arrested a few times for getting caught with illegal substances.” He sighed. “Her life went pretty downhill, and there was nothing I could do to help- I was locked up in a jail cell, wishing I was dead, too.”

“Have you tried seeing her since you were released?” she asked quietly, and he shook his head.

“She doesn’t want to see any of us, least of all me,” he said, staring up at the ceiling. “I’m the one who supported Xander’s plan the most- I could’ve stopped him from even attempting it, but instead, Gunn, Angel, and I went along with it, too greedy to even think about the repercussions of what we were trying to do.” He paused and shook his head, almost as if to try to clear it of his thoughts. “I’m sorry- I doubt any of this even matters to you.”

“It’s nice to see the more humane part of Spike,” she replied, smiling. “Plus, it gives me an idea of who you really are.” He looked at her, raising an eyebrow. “You’re letting me in on your life- that’s not something a kidnapper typically does.”

“Well, maybe I just needed to get it off my chest,” he said, standing up.

“And maybe you needed someone to listen, someone who might care about what you have to say,” she added, and he looked down at her.

“You care?” he asked, and she shrugged, sighing.

“Not like I have a lot else to care about right now,” she said. “Not about school, my dad, even about being here- if this is where I’m going to be for a while, I might as well focus on the internal stuff than on the external.”

“Well, thanks for listening, doc,” he said, walking to the door and extracting his key. “I’ll let you sleep in here alone tonight- I don’t anticipate you trying to break out. And if you do, you know we’ll track you down, right?”

“I’m not going to break out,” she mumbled, laying down again and turning on her side, facing away from him. “There’s not a whole lot for me to go back to.” He looked sadly at her curled-up form and took a deep breath.

“The hardest thing in this world is to live in it,” Spike said quietly, and she looked over her shoulder at him, standing in the doorframe. “There’s always something to live for, to return home to.” She raised an eyebrow as he shut the door and locked it, leaving her to think about everything he had said to her that night.





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