Buffy had a sort of depressing thought. Either he was John Watson, somehow accustomed to modern technology or he was crazy and thought he was John Watson from the stories. She wasn't going to press yet.
She continued to whisper. The quiet and the dark of the broom closet was merciful on her aching brain. "And leave you behind? Maybe if there's enough time... I just need a more time to recover..."
But days? Buffy was fairly certain they couldn't hide days.
"I've been drugged before," Buffy frowned, her expression dark. It was not a happy memory. Her watcher had betrayed her for a sort of twisted rite of passage. Buffy's birthdays never went very well. There was another birthday coming up, too. She was turning twenty-seven later this month. "It took at least a day before I was myself again. If there was a way to avoid the doctors..."