Spike gives a little nod, and heaves a sigh. He doesn't entirely have to fake this. He is concerned about Dru. He can only hope that they're in some alternate dimension and time isn't passing back home-- if he's just gone, that's going to surely be upsetting to her. Imagining her thinking that he's just up and left without saying goodbye is like a corkscrew in his chest.

"Sure, yeh, they do their best. It's just, well... they're, old. Generation gap, yeh? Me and her, we understand each other. Always have."

It occurs to him that Finch probably assumes Spike's parents are somewhere in their mid-forties. Maybe fifties. Somewhere around his own age. He almost laughs at the thought but manages to turn it into throat-clearing.

Brightening, he breaks off a piece of jerky when Finch gives the all-clear for the dog. He notes the command, remembers being dragged all over Bruges so Angelus could look at Van Eycks and Bosches and cathedrals. He thinks of mussels and frites, beer and chocolate. The faceoff with the Janssen clan at the aptly-named Basilica of the Holy Blood.

Out loud, he remarks, "Clever dog. What's that, German?"

He flicks the bit of jerky dog-ward, thinking Don't say I never did anything for you, pooch.