"Librarian guy. Wake up."
Giles sat up with a start, and turned to see Oz's friend—David? No, Devon—glaring down at him. "Hey, librarian guy."
Giles stared at him a moment. "It's er, Mr. Giles, actually—"
"Whatever." Devon grabbed Giles' arm, pulling him into a standing position, facing him so they were nearly nose to nose. "Where is he? I know you fucking know, so tell me. Where is he?" Devon's voice was low, silky, dangerous. The crude words didn't match that voice, no, nor the immature, young face, eyes, body. The voice was velvet, silk, maturity, seduction. But there was fire in Devon's eyes.
Giles took a step backward, looking the younger man firmly in the eye. "We're trying to figure out where he is, Devon. I'm sure once we know—"
Devon leapt at him angrily. "No, damnit, tell me where he is!" Giles shoved him away, surprised when Devon collapsed into chair, wiping his eyes. "He's, like, dead or something, isn't he? When Willow said he disappeared—" He took a deep, shaky breath. "Hey, librarian guy?" he said again, quietly.
Giles handed him a tissue, and sat down next to him, hand on his shoulder. "Yes?"
Dev looked up at him. "I can…I can kinda see why he likes you so much." He sniffed, wiped his nose, smiled wryly. "I'm kinda jealous. All he talks about is you. He even said he was thinking about telling Willow, you know, about you guys or whatever." He sniffed again, blew his nose noisily as Giles, shocked, absorbed what the boy had said. All he talks about is you.
He sent Devon home. Buffy reappeared, carrying two cups of steaming coffee. "Any luck?" he asked her, gratefully taking a sip from the cup she offered him.
She sighed. "Willy said he'd heard Cain was back in town, but didn't know where he was staying. I even beat him up…but, nothing. God, poor Willow! This must be so hard for her," she sighed, sipping her coffee.
For her, he thought, suppressing a wry smile and choking down the rest of his coffee. It was watery and bitter, and didn't do much good, except to dull the sharp edge of his fatigue.
He didn't even know where to look. Books—his fountains of knowledge—held no answers for him. They sat, smirking and collecting dust. The library was quiet, and suddenly, Giles realized that Buffy was staring at him, studying him quietly. Her contemplative gaze reminded him much of Oz, and he was forced to look away, cheeks reddening. "Buffy—" He glanced at her, stood to grab his coat from the back of his chair. "Perhaps—should we speak with Angel?" He was grasping blindly, he knew, but what else was there? Give up, a part of his mind whispered, both cruelly and pleadingly. He's most likely already dead, and Cain long gone.
As the sun dipped below the horizon in a blaze of reds and golds, Giles and Buffy knocked on Angel's door.
It was the night after the full moon, and the crickets sang as the sky darkened.