They don't talk as they drive.  The rackety old ford that they had traded for Xander's good watch makes too much noise.  Buffy prefers it this way, likes not having to search her mind for anything to say. 

The bumping and shaking lulls her into sleep and she closes her eyes. 

…and instantly sees his face, his beautiful face as he told her to go, the resolution, the finality… 

Buffy opens her eyes.  The hand that last held his burns.

            "Where to, Buff?"

Spike used to talk to her when he thought he was asleep.  Would slide down he body until his face was nestled in her stomach, and whisper to her.  All the things he dared not say when she was awake.

'pet, buffy, love, sweetheart, love you, love you so much.  My sweet golden girl, my beauty, pretty little slayer.  's all gonna work out, you'll see.  Gonna take you away someday, far far away, take you to Russia, to London, gonna see you smile.  Pretty buffy, my lovely girl, love you'

And she'd lie there, would pretend to be asleep just to hear the words.  To dream that maybe this morning, she'd stay with him, just spend all day together. 

And then the sun would come up, rising over her personal hell-mouth, and chase her dreams away.

            "Can we go to London?"

He isn't even surprised.  Xander merely accepts it with the air he's been accepting everything with lately. 

            "London's cloudy this time of year, you know."

As if he cares about the weather, as if they'll spend the day like tourists looking at the old buildings and wishing for the sun to shine so everything would be lighter.  Buffy knows as well as he does, that Xander will just have a different wall to stare at all day. 

            "You plan on going sunbathing?"

His grin looks forced.

            "I could.  Could put on a bikini, go outside, have those London chicks look at my shapely body.  It'd be fun, and I could –"

Then he pauses, and he knows he's thinking of Anya.  So she sits quiet, and lets him think.

            "You're right," he says a few minutes later.  "Who needs the sun."

The dandelion in her pocket does, could use some water too probably.  Buffy wishes she had taken it with her in a pot, planted it and watched it grow.  But it's withering now, the hundreds of tiny petals curling up slightly, becoming crinkly. 

She takes her half empty water bottle, and places the flower inside. 

            "Gonna plant a garden?" Xander asks, and he's looking at her strangely.

She doesn't take her eyes off the dandelion.

            "No.  Planting a memory."