As soon as Buffy heard the shower in the bathroom start she got out of the bed and put on a white terry robe she found discarded on the floor. The beautifully stitched embroidery on the pocket said 'Hers', and she decided she was not going to think about the implications of that. Then she sank down on the bed again, and immediately jumped up again to pace.
This is not happening. It can't be happening. I would never . . . and he certainly would never . . . because that's not what we do. We're Buffy and Giles. We don't do this. It's . . . wrong, and-and wrong. The memory of his fingers on her skin earlier returned and she groaned in frustration. That's not meant to feel so good! I mean, we're Buffy and Giles! If only I could remember.
Stopping, Buffy slowly began to survey the room, hoping she would find a clue to explain everything. The hotel room was actually closer to a suite, with a sitting area in addition to the bed. It was all very elegant and beautiful, evidently not a cheap hotel. The burgundy carpet was soft and thick, and the upholstery on the sofa and chairs in the sitting area complemented it. The bed itself was huge but simple, with a brass headboard and tasteful while cotton sheets. Clothes were casually draped over furniture, and an empty wine bottle sat on the dresser. Maybe we were drunk? No, doesn't work. I'd have a hangover if we got so drunk we can't remember . . . what we did.
Buffy sat down on the small sofa (after moving a pair of pants to the floor beside it) and tried to reconstruct what she could remember. I know I got up. Willow made me. I got dressed, went downstairs and had some breakfast. Xander was making dumb jokes about something, and Oz called to walk Willow to college. As she ran through the morning, more things began to surface. I felt ill. Like I wanted to be sick, so I asked Willow to get my assignments and went back to bed. Then . . . nothing.
But it's morning again, Buffy thought, noticing the quality of the light shining through the window for the first time. She found a clock on the bedside table, and found that it was nine o'clock in the morning. A few things clicked into place as she realised that they had lost at least a day.
The hotel had kindly provided them with a TV, so she turned it on and found a news channel. Eleventh December. Last I remember, it was the eighth. We've lost three days. Oh my god.
***
Giles emerged from the bathroom to find Buffy staring blankly at the TV. He switched if off and went to sit beside her on the sofa.
"What's wrong?" he asked gently, then cursed himself as he realised the stupidity of what he had asked.
Buffy began laughing hysterically. "You . . . ask me . . . what's wrong?" she managed. "We've . . . and I don't remember . . . and, and we're . . . and we've lost three days."
As suddenly as she had begun laughing, Buffy burst into tears. Giles wrapped his arms around her and held her tight while she sobbed. His thoughts were whirling so fast he could not make any sense of them but her words, 'we've lost three days' kept echoing through them.
As Buffy calmed down she pulled back slightly. Giles released her, and they both became aware of their situation. They were sitting so close he could smell the shampoo she used, and he was uncomfortably aware that they were both only wearing bathrobes.
"Buffy, I-"
The events of the morning became too much for Buffy again, and she fled to the bathroom.
*finis*