This is Episode 14 of an alternate Season Seven I began writing in the Summer of 2002. I wrote this story in November and December of 2002. At the time it was my longest story by far. It has five or six plots that dovetail into an extended, action-packed apocalyptic climax. Because of this, it can stand on its own, apart from the rest of the series.

The title refers to knowledge revealed by Patrick Gugan, the creepy yet compelling post-doctoral student who's done pioneering research on demons and vampires in his spare time. He's an arch-rationalist who feels a need to scientifically explain all the paranormal things in Sunnydale. He also conducts experiments. Buffy and Willow want his knowledge but fear his experiments, and for good reason. In Episode Twelve, several of his demon-killing "good" vampires got loose. Aside from the bizarre passive resistance they showed Buffy, the vampires stood out for their ability to go out in the sunlight, thanks to Patrick's pioneering gene therapy. He's also in contact with a network of ex-Watchers who believe that one Slayer need not die for another to rise. They also claim the story of the First Slayer story is a myth invented by the Council, and that Slayer Power has biological, not magical, origins. Suffice it to say, Buffy can't help but be curious about these wacky beliefs and the evidence that allegedly supports them. In this episode, Patrick helps gain Buffy's trust by risking his life to help her prevent an apocalypse.

But that's not all. Willow tries to begin her first post-Tara relationship with a punky bisexual musician named Zooey. (I hope you find her much cooler than Kennedy.) Anya and Sterling get increasingly serious as Anya realizes she's falling in love. With Anya clearly over him, Xander tries to move on with Elise, but can't help but worry it'll end in disaster just like his other two relationships. Finally, Dawn becomes friends with Elijah, a cute, intelligent and sensitive boy who clearly wants to be more than friends. Dawn doesn't want to be lonely. On the other hand, she still feels attached to Connor. Naturally, Buffy wants her kid sis to move on to anyone other than Connor.

Speaking of her, Buffy and Spike try to repair a relationship he scuttled a month before with his usual self-destructiveness. In a reversal of their past roles, Buffy pushes for them to be closer, while Spike pulls away for reasons Buffy can't completely understand.

The chronology jumps around in the first few chapters, the result of revisions I made to adapt this story to the chapter format. I've helpfully provided dates. Even without the dates, it should be easy to follow what's happening. I just wanted to introduce as many plots as possible in the opening chapter.

Two small parts of this story aren't stand-alone. One is a conclusion to the plot thread involving Amy and her mother Catherine that was introduced in Episode 12. The other is an introduction of a plot thread involving Jonathan and Andrew that will be continued in Episode 15. The rest is self-contained. Enjoy. And comment. Please comment.

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TUESDAY, JANUARY 21, 2003

A coyote strolled the grounds a large estate. He was hungry, and there hadn't been any rabbits in the garden on this night. But there was meat. He could smell it in a clearing. But when he got to the source, he was unable to see it.

"Unimpressive," a disembodied voice declared.

"This is where we're going to fulfill our ancient destiny?," another voice asked.

"Location is irrelevant," a third voice thundered. "We're about to create nothingness, and you quibble about things? I'm not sure you're ready for the transformation." The poor confused coyote could smell and hear these three invisible beings all around him. He spun in a circle and whimpered. He explored with its paws, touching a leg, then gnawing on it. A man appeared. He was tall and thin, with a shiny, bald ivory head. The animal, spooked by the size of his prey, tried to run away. But the man was quick. He spun, took a few long steps, and grasped the coyote by his tail with his left hand, carrying the squirming animal back to the others, who materialized. One was average height, bald except for a single, long, braided tassel of brown hair. The third was tall and bulky, with a tonsure and long braids down his back. The bald man let go of the tail and grabbed the back of the coyote's neck with his right hand and listened to it growl.

"It's not lack of splendor I object to," the first man insisted. "It's the vulnerability."

"Our natural defenses are minimal. The Slayer can attack us with impunity."

"Nonsense," the third man said with a calm smile as he look at the growling coyote's teeth, slowly calming it down with his reassuring gaze. "She lacks the weapons with which to harm us."

"What about the Temple? How can we stop her from destroying it? You think we can keep our activity secret until it's finished?"

"Why shouldn't I? We're not doing anything illegal. Heck, I even have all the proper permits."

"A permit for the apocalypse. Only in Sunnydale," the second one quipped.

"It's a nice town. If you only have to visit it once," the first one offered.

"The end of the world is worth a few weeks of tedium," the leader added. The coyote licked his face. He bit the animal's neck and drained him. "The blood of a killer. Nothing is sweeter." He tossed the corpse and walked away, his two lackeys in tow. Several dobermans surrounded and sniffed the body. "Dog eat dog world."

"I guess this will do for the short term."

"The short term is all this world has left."

After fleeing Sunnydale, Jonathan and Andrew headed down to Mexico and hid out in Mazatlán, a city on Mexico's west coast about 1,000 miles south of the border. Jonathan worked as an assistant for a local shaman. Andrew worked as a towel boy at a local resort frequented by American tourists, or, as he insisted on referring to his job title, "Aquatic Recreation Attendant." They shared a small apartment, thought they rarely talked and lived largely separate lives. Andrew worked during the day. Jonathan frequently worked at night. This lack of contact worked out well, since neither was particularly fond of the other. The only thing that kept them together was their shared status as fugitives.

Jonathan wanted to turn himself in. He was ready to pay for what he did. But he didn't want to pay too much. He had followed reports of the case on the web at a local internet cafe. The police knew there had been one attempted robbery which resulted in the arrests of two of the three perpetrators. They knew that the next day the third perpetrator shot two people, killing one, presumably because they were witnesses to the robbery. That night, the two suspects in custody escaped from prison, presumably with the help of the third. None of the three had been seen since.

The police had discovered some of their plans from seized computers. What they couldn't figure out was why three young men with no criminal history would concoct such a grandiose and outlandish scheme. One theory was that they were losers trying to make a name for themselves. But the plans seemed much too detailed for the "loser" theory to hold. The second theory was that they had professional assistance, that they were part of some larger organization. One hypothesis was that the robberies were intended to raise millions for some as yet unknown terrorist organization, a latter day Symbionese Liberation Army or something like that. The combination of cold-blooded murder, a well-planned crime spree, and three "kids next door" behind it all fed the sensationalism.

Warren's non-existence complicated Jonathan's plans to come clean. There was no easy way for him to prove that Warren was dead. If Jonathan turned himself in without offering any information as to Warren's whereabouts, Jonathan would probably be charged as an accessory to murder. With Warren not around, Jonathan would take the wrap for Warren's crimes. Jonathan could give the police Andrew, but that didn't solve the problem. Jonathan could not hope for a favorable deal until he could find Warren's body. But there was no body.

Willow had made things very difficult for Jonathan. She committed the perfect murder. Not was the body disposed of, but the methods she used to kill him were so incredible that no police officer or prosecutor would ever believe the truth. Besides, Jonathan had no interest in causing any trouble for Willow. He knew Warren had it coming. He was sorry he hadn't done it first and saved Willow the trouble.

In the meantime, Jonathan was learning quite a bit from his shaman employer. He had access to powerful new folk magics. As always, Jonathan was a quick study. He impressed his boss with his abilities. The sorcerer thought much of his apprentice. He didn't know Jonathan was planning to use magic as a means of escape, as his ticket back to Sunnydale.

TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 4, 2003

Willow walked into the Espresso Pump. Buffy was behind the counter. "How do you like your new job?"

"No ugly uniform, no stench of processed meat permeating my every pore. I could get used to this."

"You never told be how you snagged this job."

"Last week I was out patrolling and took a stroll through town. I hear something behind this door. Vampire attacks guy. I slay vampire, save guy. Turns out the guy I saved was Walter Hopkins, the owner of this place. I thought of what Patrick said about how I never got paid for all the lives I save. So I decided to try it out. I asked for a job, and he said yes."

"I supposed that's the least he could do. Literally."

"Not that I don't like seeing you, but don't you get your noon caffeine rush at school?"

"Usually. But today I'm meeting Zooey."

"Girlfriend Zooey? That's great! I've been waiting to meet her."

"Actually, I'm not sure about that. The girlfriend part, I mean."

"Willow, don't turn around, but I think there's a girl checking you out." Willow turned.

"Zooey! It's so great to see you!" What are you doing all the way over there?"

Zooey walked over. "Enjoying the view. And wondering who the pretty girl was you were getting all chummy with."

"Zooey, this is Buffy." Buffy took a look. Purple hair. Nose ring. Eyebrow ring. Tattoos on both arms. Attractive. But more butch and bohemian than Buffy expected.

"Great to finally meet you, Buff. So you're Willow's best friend. I mean, her other best friend. The one she never had a crush on."

Buffy looked confused. "She means Xander," Willow explained.

"Course, now that I've seen you, I'm having trouble understanding why," Zooey added, with a flirtatious smirk.

Buffy wasn't used to girls flirting with her. "Um, well, uh, gee -"

"Relax. It's a compliment, not a come-on, Buff. Just being friendly."

"Oh! You thought, that I thought, that you were? Well, I wasn't. Thank you, I guess. It's great to meet you, Zooey. And it's Buffy, not Buff."

"My mistake, Buff. Won't happen again."

Willow tried to smooth things over. "We should hang out some time. The three of us."

Zooey had a better idea. "Or the four of us, with Xander tagging along. He's a fun tagger."

"You know Xander?," Buffy asked Zooey.

"We've hung out. He's nice. Chock full of levity and such."

"Yeah, he's big on the levity," Buffy concurred.

"A friend of Willow's is a friend of mine," Zooey explained. "Actually, a friend of Willow's is usually the lover of a friend of mine. I think you're the only one of Willow's friends who isn't dating one of my friends."

"Excuse me, but which friends are these?," Buffy asked. She hadn't put together the connection between Sterling, Elise and Zooey.

"Elise and Sterling," Willow explained. She's dating Xander, he's dating Anya."

"Well, isn't that an amazing coincidence," Buffy exclaimed. She wasn't aware of the common thread which connected all of them.

"Not really," Zooey began. "I mean, we're all in the same band. Seems the only one in the band who's not dating one of Willow's friends is Spike." Buffy got a little startled. "But he doesn't strike me as the dating type. Do you know Spike, Buffy?"

"We've bumped into each other a couple times," Buffy responded, oblivious to her little double entendre.

"So then you know he's an odd sort of fellow. Like with his groupies -"

"Spike has groupies?," Buffy asked in a moment of spontaneous jealousy.

"He doesn't seem to notice them. It's bizarre, to never even make a move for a single one, ever. After all, everyone gets lonely. But he's into the solitude. That's why we call him Mister Garbo."

"Why do you call him Mister Gordo?," Buffy asked, mistakenly hearing the name of her favorite stuffed animal.

"No. It's Mister Garbo. Because he always wants to be alone." That sounded a lot like the Spike Buffy had encountered recently.

"How bout we get our coffee?," Willow proposed. Spike was the last thing she wanted to talk about. Zooey and Willow got their orders and sat down at a table. Zooey didn't waste time with small talk.

"I wanted to talk to you about the other night. It was all so sudden. Like going from first to fourth without popping the clutch. You get impulsive and do that, you blow the transmission and wreck your car. It didn't want to wreck what we had, what we have." Willow was drinking a cappucino, and accidentally got a little cream on her nose.

"You have something on your nose," Zooey told her. Then she reached out and wiped it off. Willow smiled. Zooey smiled. They stared at each other for a couple seconds. Zooey returned to her little speech. "You have to take things slow, go from first to second to third to fourth, and, okay, I'm making a bad automotive analogy. What I'm trying to say is, I thought we needed time to assess this, um, shift, in our relationship. Now we've had that time. And if you still want to, well, insert your own metaphor, I'm game." She put her left hand under the table and touched Willow's right leg. Willow grinned.

"We're not still talking about cars, now are we?." Willow joked.

"Nope," Zooey responded, rubbing Willow's leg. Then she put her hand back on the table, picked up her coffee and drank.

"Good," Willow replied. "I'm mean, great! We've been fighting this for so long, and eventually I said to myself Why fight it?' If I deny my feelings, I'm just lying to myself.'"

"Exactly," Zooey answered. She looked at her watch. "I have to hurry off to get to work. I'm sorry. About leaving, not about seeing you. I'm really, really happy about that, about us. About the fact that there is an us. I guess this means we're going out or something," she said with a disbelieving chuckle.

"Right. You're my girlfriend. Meaning we can do all those things which are inappropriate to do with friends. When exactly do we start doing those things?"

Zooey took Willow's hand. "Right now would be great, but we're in public, I have to go to work, and I think you have classes."

"I'm free tonight," Willow proposed.

Zooey looked frustrated. "Dammit! I'm not. We have a gig tonight in San Benardino. Curse Spike and his burgeoning popularity!" Willow had no trouble with that. "I'm just kidding," Zooey added. "Wouldn't want to curse the guy who's helping me pay my rent. But the timing couldn't be worse. How bout tomorrow? The Bronze. Eightish?"

"It's a date," Willow answered excitedly.

"Yes. It is. See you then, girlfriend." Zooey finished her coffee and left.

While Willow and Zooey were conversing, Catherine Madison walked into the Espresso Pump. Willow's back was to the door, so she didn't see Amy's mom. Catherine walked up to Buffy. Buffy's blood ran cold.

"Double half-decaf latte please," Catherine told Buffy. Buffy stood frozen.

"Double half-decaf latte please," Catherine repeated. "It's been a while since I've been in here, but the way I remember it working is I order, you take my money and give me my beverage. You do work here, right?"

Buffy decided to play along and do her job. She got the coffee, resisting the urge to throw it in the evil witch's face. Catherine paid for the $4 order with a $20 bill, telling Buffy to keep the change. "One more thing, Buffy. I just wanted to tell you that this is goodbye." Then she walked out. Buffy thought Catherine had just given her a death threat.

Willow came over to talk with Buffy, all giddy about what was happening with Zooey. "So Buffy, what do you think of my new girlfriend?"

"She's, uh, she's nice, I guess."

"This is so exciting!"

"I guess," Buffy said, staring into the distance.

"Is something wrong?"

"Amy's mom came in here. She told me she wanted to say goodbye."

Willow was a little confused. "Meaning she's not planning on seeing you again. Meaning she's planning on, oh no."

"Hasta la vista, Buffy was what came to mind," Buffy replied.

"What were her exact words?"

"I just wanted to tell you that this is goodbye.' That's what she said."

"That could mean any number of things, most of which have nothing to do with killing you. Of course we should take her seriously, since she is seriously psychotic and all, but let's not go overboard. Remember what happened when you went to her house. She might just be baiting you again for a sick laugh."

"Or she might actually be serious this time."

"Buffy, if she's going to kill you with magic, we'd know. You can't do that kind of thing without giving off massive signals. People would pick up on it. Anya would definitely pick up on it, because of the vengeance angle. So you'll have plenty of warning if it's a worst-case scenario. I'll go to campus, find Amy and see what I can get out of her. How soon do you get off work?"

"My shift's over in three-and-a-half hours. But I could leave early, seeing as how my boss owes me his life and all."

"Buffy, we've got you covered. I'm on it, Anya's on it. You'll be on it in a couple hours. In the meantime, remember, she's small-fry compared to what you've taken down. Don't sweat her. She doesn't deserve it."

That night, in the great hall of the mansion, a tall, bald man wore a red hooded robe. He stood in the middle of the room. A man in a hooded white robe with black trim walked up to him. He had a black blindfold over his eyes. The lights were off, except for the glow from the large fireplace. On either side of the fireplace stood four men wearing black hooded robes. The man in the red robe spoke to the man in the white robe.

"Do you swear to keep the secrets of the order, upon pain of death? Do you pledge to live according to its precepts and teachings? Do you vow to devote yourself to your own perfection, and to the perfection of the Brethren?" The man in the white robe slowly nodded. "Then you shall be born again!" The man in the red robe pulled back his hood. He pulled back the other man's hood. Then he bit the blindfolded man in the neck. After about five seconds, he pulled back. He thrust a teenage boy into the arms of the blindfolded man. He bit into the boy and drained him. The corpse fell to the ground. The man in the white robe held out his hands. The man in the red robe handed him a golden chalice. He took the chalice to his lips and drank.

WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 29, 2003

It was around 10:30 at night. Spike at back at his apartment, flipping through the channels. Buffy opened the door and entered. Spike never locked it. He didn't need locks to keep out the really dangerous unwelcome guests. Spike turned off the television and stood up. He was wearing dark blue jeans and a black button-down shirt. "What's with the non-black pants?," Buffy asked.

"Laundry day," Spike told her.

"Spike, we need to talk."

"I'm not ready for that."

Buffy looked cross. She walked towards Spike. "What's your problem? Used to be I couldn't get rid of you. Now you run away from me. I don't get it." She kept walking. He slowly backed up.

"Buffy, it's not your fault. It's mine. It's all my fault."

"Tell me something I don't know."

"I can't be around you."

She grabbed him and pushed him up against the wall and held him there. "You're really getting on my nerves. I've had enough of your games. Listen to me, Spike. Either you are going to love me, or you are going to die trying."

Spike gulped. Buffy had threatened to kill him plenty of times in the past. But it was always "get out of town or I'll kill you," "get out of my sight or I'll kill you," "stay away from the people I love, or I'll kill you." Never "love me or I'll kill you." That was new.

"So it's come to this. We must love one another or die,'" Spike told Buffy, quoting an Auden poem.

"No Spike, YOU must love me or YOU'LL die. Just you. Got it?" Then she let go.

"Why are you giving me another chance?"

"You think I like this?," Buffy asked angrily. "You think I want to love you? You think I didn't fight this every step of the way? You're the last thing I want. But right now you're the only thing I want. Do you have any idea how crazy that is!?"

"It think I do."

Buffy was pacing back and forth. She put her left hand to her forehead and shook her head back and forth in frustration. "Dammit Spike, what is your problem! I know you love me. So why can't you act like you do? You're human. You're SUPPOSED to have a soul. To put it your way, what the bloody hell is your damage?"

"I hurt you. I betrayed you. I made you suffer. And I don't know why. That's what scares me. I snapped, and I don't know if I can stop myself from doing it again."

"And you're afraid to take that risk. Since when were you afraid of taking risks?"

"Since you told me you loved me."

Buffy paused and thought through this paradox. "I through with this game. You want pain, punish yourself."

Spike was punishing himself. This was the third time he pushed her away. And each time was more painful than the last. It was torturous to hear her say she loved him and not take her in his arms and kiss her. Since becoming human, all he ever wanted was her love. Now he had it, but he couldn't enjoy it, because he didn't believe he deserved it.

Later than night, Spike found his way to the attack apartment where Patrick Gugan lived. The door was ajar, so he entered. Patrick, who was washing dishes in the kitchen, heard the noise, turned the faucet off and darted out into the living room. "Spike! What a surprise."

"We've never met."

"You're quite famous. And I'm not talking about that music thing."

"I've heard your the one with all the answers to questions nobody's asking."

"Except now, you're asking?"

"How does a guy like you learn so much about demons on his own?"

"I'm biologist. I study living things. A lot of the living things around here happen to be demons. It's a question of habitant, really."

"I didn't ask why. I asked how."

"Dissections. Experiments. Years of patient research."

"You didn't do it the easy way and steal from the Initiative?" Patrick laugh.

"I couldn't have stolen from the Initiative. They didn't do the research. Didn't even try. They were pseudo-scientists."

"Pseudo-scientists who knew enough to put a chip in my head to keep me from feeding."

"Oh yes. That crude and primitive form of mind control. Headaches on demand. Shouldn't have been that hard to do. Capture some specimens. Perform a few CAT-scans, EKG's, get a good look at the vampire's neurochemistry, then create a simple reverse feedback loop. The chip's probably lodged in your hypothalamus, with a little wire snaking into your medulla so that it can't be easily removed without severing the neurons you need to live. When a vampire feeds on humans, its brain cells get deluged with a special cocktail of happy neurochemicals. When the chip senses the release of these chemicals, it stimulates nerve endings which cause you to feel a wicked awful headache. The funny thing is, migraines are caused by swelling in the blood vessels around the brain. But vampires don't have pulsating blood flow, so they can have any swelling blood vessels. They shouldn't be able to have migraines. Pain is a response to a stimulus. At least it's supposed to be. In your case there was no stimulus. Your brain told your nerve cells to feel pain which didn't exist. I'm sure that didn't make it hurt any less. But it really was all in your mind." Spike was not happy. Dru was right. Electricity lied. "By the way Spike, does it still work, now that you're human?"

Spike made a fist and looked menacing. "Want to find out?"

"Whoa, whoa, killing the messenger! Not good! You're smarter than that, Spike." Spike punched him in the shoulder. Not really hard, but enough to sting a little.

"Fair enough. That's very interesting. It's also what I would have predicted. Humans are incapable of producing and releasing the vast amounts of neurochemicals needed to activate the chip. Hurting humans may get another human off, but not the way it gets vampires off. By the way, chips need electricity, and a battery to produce that electricity. I had a source on the inside who kept me apprised of how far behind me Maggie's lab was. She told me the batteries couldn't be good for much more than three years. After that, the chip doesn't work. That would have been, what, last Fall in your case? Perhaps you got your soul in the nick of time." Patrick started laughing quietly at the irony of it all. Spike wasn't exactly happy, cause the joke was on him. Plus, no one likes being treated as a lab animal. Again.

"You're just saying that to piss me off."

"Yes. But it's also the truth. The Initiative didn't know how relatively easy it was to restore a vampire's soul. Course the hard part is keeping the newly ensouled vampire alive. Time and again, that's always been the stumbling block."

"What do you mean by ALWAYS?"

"You really thought Angel was the only one? That only one clan of gypsies had this spell and they only ever used it on one vampire? Come on. You should know better. Lots of groups had versions of the spell. It's been used at least dozens of times, probably hundreds. Angel wasn't close to the first. Hell, he wasn't even the last. But he was the only one known to have survived more than a few years. Sometimes they kill themselves because they can't take the pain and the guilt. Often they're killed by their fellow vampires. A vampire with a soul is kind of like a heretic, so they usually burn him at the stake to cleanse the group of the vile impurity. Why did he make it and endure where others didn't." Patrick shrugs. "Like I care. That's psychology. Which isn't even a real science."

"So Angel's not the only one. Am I? Have any others become human?"

"Not that I know of."

"And you're a pretty knowledgeable guy." Spike liked the idea that he was unique and Angel wasn't.

"I'm a researcher, not a historian. Anyway, who can really know these things? Say a vampire became human, adopted a new identity and never told anyone about his past. Or they killed themselves after a while, like the ensouled vampires. By the way, just for the sake of knowledge, after you got your soul back, and you realized you deserved to die, what kept you going?" Spike snarled, turned around, left and slammed the door behind him.