A/N: While writing this chapter, I wondered why I wrote this first scene - why didn't I just skip over it? Why torture myself trying to imagine a character like Vincent Crawford and how he'd react in this scene? Why?

This chapter probably should have a trigger warning for suggestions(?)/scenes(?) of child-abuse.

Again I ask myself, why am I putting myself through writing this?

They Put Us Far Apart

Chapter 3:

-"You understand, Mr. Crawford. You understand better than any of them, what it's like." The man spoke, his bespectacled eyes glancing towards the hallway. It led towards the back of the house where the bedrooms were.

"I...I don't know what you mean." Vincent Crawford replied, taking in the stranger's appearance - slightly disheveled but more in a carefree bachelor way than an homeless one. Nor did it appear that the stranger was high.

The stranger smirked and leaned in closer to Vincent. His voice excited and just below a whisper. "There's no need to hide it from me. I've seen you. At the park. You eat your lunch there everyday, cuz of the fresh air..." The stranger chuckled, his eyes glancing towards the hall then back to Vincent. "But that's an excuse. You just like watching them."

"I...I really don..."

"...it's okay." The stranger grinned, his eyes getting an excited gleam. "I do the same thing. For the same reason. Heh. Well, maybe it's slightly different from yours."

"I..." Vincent's eyes widened at the stranger's words, not knowing if he could believe what the smug faced man was saying. Before he could respond the sound of a door opening behind him caught his ear. His cheeks paled even before the stranger smirked and spoke loudly.

"I know what you did. Mr. Crawford. I know." The stranger gave a curt laugh before leaving.

"...Honey? That...that man..."

Vincent turned around to face his wife, his brain blank. It wasn't until he saw the fear in her eyes that he realized what she thought. And how he could use that to his advantage.-

x

Vincent ran his fingers through his hair, glancing at the rear-view mirror of his Buick. He glowered at his trunk and at the expanse of road behind him. He was so far from the nearest town or city, it boggled his mind how the stranger could know what he'd done.

Did the stranger really know what he'd done? Or had his words been a ruse to lure Vincent out here? Maybe the stranger was a relative bent on revenge or some cop or informant. Or...

Vincent tensed as he noticed a car drive up and park just in front of his. He swallowed upon recognizing the man as the stranger from that morning. But the tenseness of his body lessened when, after getting out of the car, the stranger opened his back passenger seat door. And took out a small bundle.

Vincent exited his car, his fear turned to intrigue as the stranger approach. Just a few steps away, he noticed that the bundle was an unconscious young girl. Probably around five years old. His eyes lit in understanding.

"...I thought I'd bring a gift." The stranger smirked, handing over the unfortunate girl. His eyes gleamed as he recognized the look in Vincent's eyes. "I knew I was right about you. You like this one?"

Vincent didn't respond at first, but just took the proffered child and laid her on the back seat of his Buick. The child was alive but unconscious, and he noticed with a small bruise on her forehead. His lips twitched. "...what do you want for her?"

The stranger smirked, a wry, breathy laugh escaping his lips. "...quid pro quo, my friend. Quid pro quo. Heh. You and the missus have two boys at home. One, which I noticed, neither of you care much for." The man gave another smirking-laugh.

Vincent's eyes widened, thrown by the stranger's implied request. "...you want Lee?"

The man smirked, tilting his head. "Access to him. Yes. Maybe send him to my place after school or whatever daily. What do you say?" He paused, grinning knowingly. "Or I could point the authorities over yonder." He pointed at the desert, towards the right. A gesture that made Vincent pale.

"All right." Vincent replied after a pause, breathing to steady himself. "Okay, I'll send Lee over tomorrow. What's your address by the way? And name? You obviously already know mine."

"Michaels. Gary Michaels." The man smirked, and told Vincent his address. The next moment he headed back to his own car.

0

(Spencer)

"...will he be all right?" The baker's grand-niece's voice was the first thing he noticed as he regained consciousness. It was melodious. The rest of the sounds he grew conscious of were not however, but were instead deadening. It didn't take long for his ears to hurt from all the assaulting noises. He opened his eyes, and immediately was forced to shut them from the bright lights overhead.

'...the hospital. I'm at the hospital.' He kept his eyes squeezed shut, his head pounding and feeling heavy.

"Yes. He'll have to stay in hospital for a while, but he'll make a full recovery." An unknown voice said, and by his words Spencer-Lee assumed he was the doctor. Though there was an unsympathetic tone to the doctor's voice. "Now, Ms. Tillerman, your so..."

"He's not mine." The baker's niece corrected the doctor before he completed his assumption. "Lee's just a neighborhood child who visits the bakery regularly. His family are the Crawford's."

"Oh. All right." The doctor mumbled, glancing at the chart in his hand. A fact Spencer-Lee noticed by opening his eyes a sliver, before shutting them again. The brightness of the room, coupled with the heaviness and pain of his head, was too much. He did manage to see the doctor's face – it held an expression that could only be disdain.

"What?" The grand-niece's concern was piqued by the doctor's tone, her eyes widening. "What did they do?"

The doctor paused, considering the woman's question. He had heard the concern mixed with the same disdain that he felt. "You already know that the boy was being mistreated?"

"Mistreated? I knew they weren't feeding him properly, and I've reported the Crawford's to the authorities dozens of times about it. But I don't know anything other than that."

Spencer-Lee strained his ears to listen to the two, but was thwarted when both walked out of the room. He grumbled to himself, wanting to know what they were discussing. He needed to know, since if it was something that could anger the Crawford's he wanted to be prepared when he was sent back home. Ignoring the pressure in his head, and the bolts of pain that jabbed him with each movement, he lifted himself out of the bed. He didn't care if it would be against the doctor's orders or whatnot, he needed to make sure he wouldn't make the Crawford's angry.

When they were angry...he shivered, thinking about it. The consequences of the last time he made them angry were burned into his brain, clear and vivid. He rubbed his side, frowning and chewing his lip at the memory. It was burned in his brain but also into his side. The last time he pissed off the Crawford's, Leah...mother...burned the word 'fool' on his skin. Like a brand.

He shivered again, and swallowed back nervously. Detaching the IV tubing hooked to his arm, he proceeded toward the door. Each step his breath caught, bracing for the doctor or a nurse or even Tillerman to return and scold him. To bring him back to bed. He berated himself quietly, wondering why he hadn't simply waited on the porch. He'd only wanted to get some food, not be whisked off to the hospital.

Though, he supposed, his passing out had everything to do with why Tillerman had brought him to the hospital. As he took a few steps down the hall, and then a few more, he thought about the bakery, about the baker and his grand-niece. They were nice people, but neither really understood his home life or his parents. They didn't know how much trouble they got him in at times...

Spencer-Lee tensed at the sound of a door opening behind him.

"Seriously? I can't believe this is happening again." An unknown man's voice mumbled angrily, but with a tinge of concern as well.

"How was I supposed to know her fever would be this bad?!" An unknown woman's voice joined the man's, and Spencer-Lee glanced behind him out of curiosity. His large hazel-brown eyes flitted from the man to the woman and back. He blinked. There was something about them – something familiar.

"Lee! What are you doing out of bed?!" Tillerman exclaimed, scooping up the six-year-old before he could protest. She swiftly carried him back to his hospital room, flagging down a nearby nurse along the way.

As she did so, the woman Spencer-Lee had been looking at turned towards the woman and child, following them with her eyes. The woman's eyes widened, the look on her face shocked.

"Diana? What...?" William stared at his wife, his brow furrowed at her sudden shift in demeanor. His eyes widened in concern when Diana didn't answer, but only covered her mouth too in shock to speak. "Diana...?

"Tha...That's..." Diana simply pointed towards where she saw the other woman – Tillerman – take the boy. Her words escaped from her as almost unintelligent mumbles. '….Spencer...'