The Willow Tapes (Tapes 15 and 16)

[madimpossibledreamer]

Main Points:
Buffy the Vampire Slayer AU (Xander is an FBI Agent. Universe is vaguely based on Normal Again.)
Summary: Kennedy and Xander are still getting used to working together.
Word Count: 1269
Rating: Teen

        Willow, I am now going to paint you a picture. Not physically, as you are no doubt aware that there is a reason I did not pursue a career as a police sketch artist. Rather, I am currently going to do so with my words.

        It is late, for the early birds among us, getting close to nine o’clock, and already darkness has fallen like a shroud around this town. The metaphor is apt. Like many small towns, it is composed of early birds, or those who have altered their plumage to fit in. Additionally, it is raining with just the touch of wind, to match the gloom of my mood. I have spent the better part of two hours pouting in the precise direction of the Bureau and have, in fact, been ditched by Kennedy, who believes me to be behaving, and I quote, “immature and childish”, in favor of seeking out dinner. I may, in fact, regret this later, as while I have become accustomed to not eating since early childhood, this does not make it a situation of which I am too fond. However, I believe that under the circumstances, this is the only logical reaction.

        I would understand if you had stated that your position required secrecy, but when disclosing that you are a witch, you offered absolutely no explanation at all. You wouldn’t have even had to give away your own status to clue me in to the existence of magical beings, and you’re aware of the similarities between me and the fictional Agent Mulder. I would have required very little evidence to be convinced, and then I would have been better prepared for the harpy.

        It’s not the danger to myself or the boy that has me in a tailspin. I was able to handle that ably, thanks to my training, even caught so unawares. No, it’s had me going over every single character flaw of mine and trying to pinpoint which makes me so terrible to confide in. I realize this may come off as guilt tripping, which is why I am uncertain as to whether I’ll even forward this recording or simply delete it. I’m not sure which of the list happens to be the cause, but I have come to a clear conclusion on the matter: I am not as good a friend as I should have been, and it is this which has rendered you silent in the matter. I have resolved to brood here in our motel room with only a faithful chocolate bar retrieved from the vending machine outside and the sounds of terribly consistent or consistently terrible late-night television as company until such time as I have decided on a path forward to improve our friendship. Kennedy will probably scold me again, but she doesn’t understand my methods.

 

        I would like to withdraw my complaint about not being someone to confide in in lieu of sheer confusion and/or terror. Willow, something is afoot and I can’t even begin to describe the web woven in this town, only that of the two options a small community banding together to plot to murder the outsiders come to investigate their little town and draw their affairs out from under the rocks into the light of day is the preferable outcome.

        Alex gets it worse, but usually people are not entirely happy to see me. Among other things, my presence is a constant reminder of sorrow and pain inflicted on the community. I am a reminder of the suffering they have endured. When I’m welcomed, it’s sometimes more as a promise of a swift resolution, with little thought given to the truth of the matter.

        Willow, all of that is directed at Kennedy, at the moment. The first sign came at breakfast. This little diner has no free refills, yet somehow none of my cups ended up on the order ticket, while Kennedy’s did. I think I’ve seen more smiles aimed in my direction in five minutes in this town than I have in my entire life. They are, down to a man, woman, and child, eager to speak to me. If they are not plotting my demise, something has made them all infatuated with me.

 

        It’s definitely a spell of some kind, Willow. Ignore my earlier ramblings about my flaws and feeling sorry for myself; it’s common enough that it doesn’t need some perceived failure on my part to come into play, and, considering it more rationally, it’s not as if I tell everyone about how Alex came to be or even about Alex’s presence. Just because you were my exception does not mean ergo I must, in fact, be yours. These are noncommutative properties. Everyone has their own thresholds for feeling safe enough to confess something held close to their heart, and I shouldn’t take it personally that yours was different than mine. Also, I will just mention it is wild that I remember some term from geography years and years ago not when it’s relevant, but when I’m just rambling into a phone recording you may or may not get. Only you will know the answer to this, because if you’re hearing this right now I did, in fact, send it. I’m leaning in that direction after the school assembly. They all wanted to talk to me, Willow, all of them, crowding around in a way that was making me feel claustrophobic. Like I was drowning. I will tell you eventually, probably, about the inciting incident, the reason Alex was born. Not yet, but someday. I’ll be fair and give you a few hints: it has to do with my fear of water, and should you decide to do so you could absolutely find reporting on the subject, though I fear there are details the papers didn’t get.

 

        You’re hearing this, obviously. Hi Willow. I hope my earlier crisis didn’t unduly disturb you, but duty calls. You see, even Kennedy has finally conceded that something is going on after the grieving mother and then grieving elder daughter both tried to seduce me during their interview. It’s still entirely possible that they’re trying to get me off my guard so they can stab me in the back, but given that they’re not treating Kennedy the same way, it is highly unlikely. Anything you have on love spells or the like would be greatly appreciated. I have a hunch that this has to do with the teenage girl’s death, and if not, well, I fear I will not be allowed to leave by the townsfolk. I have little urge to be kidnapped and kept as the town pet, or worse, so please, help.

 

        Other than some kisses and groping I am generally unscathed. It’s still present at much lower levels, so no one is accusing me of bewitchment or calling for burning at the stake (sorry if that is insensitive in your position; I’m happy to learn anything else on the matter you’re willing to tell me), but they’re merely being overly friendly as opposed to crawling in through the motel window to ambush me at night or attempting to pull me into an alley, so I will take this as an accomplishment and leave as soon as we’ve filled up the car. I would be a little more nostalgic for the free slices of pie, scoops of ice cream, refills, and the like if not for the fact that such gestures have just left me with a deep feeling of unease, instead. Hopefully that will abate. I don’t need any more eccentricities; I’m already full up on those.