Fic: She Made Me A Mixtape
Title: She Made Me a Mixtape
Author: xlivvielockex
Character (or Pairing): Cordelia/Angel, Wes, Gunn
Rating: PG
Word Count: 5,426
Warning(s): Do I need to warn for extreme fluff and cuteness! LOL
Author's Notes: S3-ish before Connor. Title (and inspiration) taken from Avenue Q's Mix Tape. More inspiration taken from VH1s Top 100 Songs of the 90s. Thanks always to my beautiful, talent, and never bitchy beta boy_named_susie. Written for fall_for_cordy
Extras: The actual mix tape that goes with this story can be found here
Cordelia reached for another CD from her collection, checking the back to make sure she remembered what track she wanted. She popped the CD from its case, holding it on one finger as she opened the top of her CD player with her free hand before sliding the sliver disc inside.
She looked around as if she could see Dennis. Usually a stir of some knickknack or a wisp of cool air would let her know that he was near. She just looked towards the last place he was, evidenced by the fact that her can of Diet Coke and open bag of chips were now turned towards her instead of the couch.
“Remember what I said. Not a noise. Not moving anything, not even rustling the tissues.”
She treated the whole operation with a precision that even few skilled surgeons had. This wasn’t just some hastily thrown together spirit project to support the football players. No, this was something else entirely. This was art. This was education.
She scrolled through to select the track, finger pressing play at the same time her other fingers hit record and play simultaneously on the tape deck below. She listened as the music began to filter out of the speakers. She even held her breath, worried that the machine would pick up the delicate sounds of her inhaling and exhaling.
There was a brief moment when she had considered just making a CD for Angel using the computer at work. It wasn’t until he came to her for the thousandth time this week, cell phone in hand, looking like a lost and scared puppy, begging her to help him access his voicemail, that she remembered that Angel wouldn’t be the kind of guy to even own a CD player. She’d be lucky if he even had a tape deck. He probably still had one of those big record players with the horn on top that old ladies seemed so fond of.
Even so, nothing was going to ruin her education of Angel. He had spent way too long with way too long dead dudes. Listening to symphonies and operettas that really only belonged in sports commercials and Disney flicks. His foray into modern music with Barry Manilow and Wang Chung wasn’t going to cut it. If Lorne hadn’t spilled to her that Angel had sung Everybody Have Fun and she knew he liked Manilow, she would have started his musical education a whole lot earlier, like the late 80s. For now though, she focused on her best of the nineties mix. It was a good time for her. Junior High was when she grew out of her boyish pre-teen figure and into the womanly figure that would carry her through high school and into the real world. It was the kind of self-esteem boost that every young girl needs. And the kind of social boost that allowed her to skyrocket to popularity and her pick of any boy around. High school was even better, even with the addition of Buffy Summers. Anthems of teen angst and grunge playing in her mind as she got covered in filth from being tackled by one too many vamps after being used for bait. She’d walk the halls of Sunnydale High, humming Barbie Girl, not only because it was catchy but because she was the material girl. Her life was fantastic. She screamed Alanis Morisette into her hairbrush after her breakup with Xander to help with the pain and anger. And Spice Girls blared in her ears on the bus ride to Los Angeles to put her in a sunny mood to start over.
Angel, she knew, if left to his own devices, would populate any collection of the nineties with Nirvana, Pearl Jam, and Alice in Chains. Seattle would probably be the best place for vampires. All those crunchy granola types; plus the sun never shone. She half wondered if it would be a good idea for the gang to take a working vacation up there, clear out some of the vampires that the city was sure to be infested with. Demonkind was kind of dumb when it came to setting up Hellmouths. Sunnydale, in California, of all places, wasn’t exactly screaming vampire friendly what with its almost endless sunny days. She could only think of one day of inclement weather, and everyone remembered that day. Then again, Angel was a vampire in sunny Los Angeles, driving around in a convertible. He wasn’t the poster boy for smart vampires, that was for certain.
She heard the tape click the end of the spool, and she let out her held breath. With countless mix tapes made for her by sensitive artist types, handed to her in poorly wrapped newspaper, she knew exactly how many songs would fit on your average Memorex. She popped the tape out, smiling at it. She had already written on the thin, white labels that now ran at the bottom of the tape, proclaiming it “Angel’s Mix. Tape One.” She knew that after listening to this, Angel would be eager to hear more current music. She’d move him out of the Stone Age and into the Rock Age.
Putting the tape aside, she reached for the stack of magazines she had gotten from the local thrift store. A pile of dusty Entertainment Weeklys, BOPs, and Tiger Beats all from her heyday lay scattered on her floor. She owned all of these when she was younger, when she had more disposable income to spend on tear out posters of Tom Cruise and Brad Pitt and Keanu Reeves. She’d tack the flimsy magazine pictures on her wall and stare at them as she and Harmony practiced how they would write their names once they were married to the superstars, *NSync blaring in the background. Even now, she still liked the idea of Cordelia Reeves. Or Cordelia Pitt. If she married Tom Cruise, she wouldn’t even have to worry about changing her monogrammed Louis Vuitton luggage once she divorced him to move onto someone bigger and better.
Now her main concern with the magazines wasn’t finding herself a future husband, it was designing an insert and cover for her mixtape. Men were visual, she knew that, and once Angel saw her collage of 90s superstars, she knew that he would have to smile at her artsy side. He had to know how long she had taken to painstakingly cut out pictures of Oasis and Red Hot Chili Peppers, knowing that she wanted to get as close as she could, with no white space, so she could fit them all.
It would have just been easier, she knew, to go to the used record store and load up on the tapes of the bands she had used in her mix. But where was the fun in that? She had gotten a certain charge once she had decided her mission, spending hours scouring her CD collection, checking out best of the nineties lists online, sneaking out to the Goodwill to snatch up all the old magazines. She suddenly understood how much those tortured artists types must have liked her to spend hours in their parents’ basements, wearing all black, trying not to cry as they put yet another Cure song on that tape. Sure, she was in a well lit apartment that she owned and she was wearing jeans and a blouse but she felt a kinship with those weirdos.
As she reached for the rubber cement, she knew that once Angel saw this, saw her effort, he wouldn’t just cram the tape into the nearest garbage can like she had done with so many of those mixtape gifts she had gotten, with their hand drawn artwork and hours of thought. Angel would appreciate this gift. And if he didn’t, if it didn’t inspire him to explore music outside of 80s synth-pop and elevator music, well, she’d just have to stake him.
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“What is this?” Angel looked at the wrapped square suspiciously. He was hoping it wasn’t another one of Cordelia’s culinary attempts. No matter how many times he had told her that he couldn’t taste, he found his blood sprinkled with cinnamon or chocolate shavings or just a hint of Tabasco, for the spicy flavored days.
Cordy merely rolled her eyes at Angel’s question. “I know you haven’t gotten any of these in your long life, but it’s a present.”
“Hey,” Angel said, getting slightly defensive. “I’ve gotten presents. Darla used to bring me virgins sometimes.”
“Yeah, and the gypsy girl that got you into this mess to start with. I’m talking post-curse and not of the human variety. Now come on, open it, I want to see your face.”
He gave her a sour look at the mention of the gypsy girl. It never surprised him to see that Cordy could take the most serious and heavy of topics, make a quip about them, and move on. It was an amazing survival skill, he knew that. One that he knew he would never possess.
He ripped into the wrapping paper, marveling at the sound that it made. She was right when she said that he didn’t get many presents. He couldn’t recall a single present Buffy had given him. Even in his mortal days, most presents from his family were functional and wrapped in cloth for special occasions. He almost felt bad, ripping and tearing into that paper, eager to get to the prize inside. He could tell from the thickness between his fingers that Cordy hadn’t gone for something cheap from one of the Mexican markets. She sprung for pricey paper. He knew it wasn’t his birthday or near any of the holidays like Christmas. It didn’t matter. The fact that he wasn’t expecting it, that was what made it more special. However, when he saw the tape, he looked up at her. confused.
“What is this?”
“It’s a mixtape.” She reached for it. She opened it up to show him. “You put it in a tape player, you know what that is, right? And you press play. I figured it was about time that you came into this century of music.”
He took the tape back from her. He turned it over in his fingers, pulling the tape out to see the artwork and insert inside. Cordy’s handwriting, neat and straight, like she used a ruler, covered the inside, listing each of the songs. The outside was still sticky from the rubber cement, balls of it sticking to his fingers as he ran them over the cut out pictures.
“Cordy…I don’t know what to say.”
“How about ‘thanks’? That’s always a good start. You know, like ‘thanks for pulling me out of the Vegas lounge act pit and into the modern era.’” She stood there, watching him as he continued to turn the tape in his hands.
He looked up at her, capturing her gaze for a moment with his. Thanks wouldn’t be nearly enough for a present like this. He could tell how much thought she had put into it, how much time it had taken to make the cover. “Thanks.” He managed to say.
“Really, was it that hard?” She rolled her eyes once more. Vampires. She’d have to add ‘showing gratitude about getting presents’ to the ever growing list of things she was going to have to teach Angel about.
It wasn’t that Angel didn’t know how to do it, he knew that when you got presents, you said thank you. Even without getting many himself, he wasn’t that socially inept. He just wasn’t expecting this sort of a present. A shirt in something other than black - that was more of Cordy’s style. Or a mug for his blood that said “World’s Best Boss.” “When did you find time to do all of this?”
She shrugged her shoulders. She didn’t want him to think that she put too much time in on it. There was friendly gesture, and then there was crazy stalker. “Had a lot of free time over the summer while you were off on your monkly journey. I knew when you got back, it would be time to start your education.”
“My education?” He sounded curious and scared at the same time.
“Yeah. I don’t think Lorne wants to hear you warble muz-ak in his club for the rest of his days. So I picked a couple of songs you might like to sing, you might relate to. And then some I really liked. And then like some of the anthems of the nineties.”
He once more looked at the tape in his hand, most of the band names utterly unfamiliar to him. He rarely turned the radio on in the GTX, rather liking his imposed silence. It was another subtle punishment that he could give himself without even realizing it, a subconscious torture, to have to listen to the sounds of the city, of the people in pain. But here was Cordy, once more trying to draw him from his self-imposed exile.
“If you like this one, I will make you a best of modern music tape.” She said, trying to drawn him from the trance that he had fallen into.
His head snapped up and he gave him a small but warm smile. “That would be great.”
She jumped up, putting her arms around his neck in a hug, happy that he liked her present so much. “I’m going to get to work on it right now! I’ll call if I get a vision.” She pulled away from him, bouncing out the doors of the hotel before Angel could say another word to her.
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Angel was still turning the tape over in his hands, having not yet listened to it, merely admiring the time, effort, and artwork that had gone into it when Wes and Gunn arrived back from a daytime patrol of a local park. News was that a group of baby loving (as in for a five course meal) demons was going to attack. From the looks of Wes and Gunn, bloodied, dirty, and covered in weary gore covered faces, they had found them. Both men moved wordlessly to the weapons cabinet, wiping the bits of demon skin and scale from their blades before putting them back.
Gunn was the first to approach Angel, who was still entranced by his first ever real gift. “What you got there?” He leaned over to examine just what held such fascination for the vampire.
Angel looked up, suddenly aware that he was no longer alone. “Oh…this…” He held the tape and case up for both to see. “It’s a mixtape. Cordy made it for me. A present. Look, she got expensive paper too.” He held it up as well, now neatly folded with torn edges sticking out.
“She made you a mixtape?” Gunn sounded slightly surprised. He hooked his head to indicate that Wes should come over and check it out. Wes made his way slowly towards the front desk, still sore from battle.
“She said that I needed to get into modern music. Said we’d start with the nineties.” He was proud of his present, beaming like a kid on Christmas as his fingers gripped it protectively.
“May I see it, Angel?” Wes inquired, his dirty hand held out. When he saw the look in Angel’s eyes, he reached for a tissue to at least clean his hands off before offering them out once more.
He reluctantly put the tape and case into the former Watcher’s hands. He watched as Wes turned the tape over, setting it down to examine the case. “It seems Cordelia put a great deal of work into this.” He said, coming to the same conclusion that Angel had come to the moment he saw it.
Gunn reached for the case, checking the insert out. “Hmmm…” was all he said in response. Angel panicked for a moment.
“Hmmm, what?”
“Nothing, just when a girl goes around giving a dude a mixtape, it usually means she is into that dude. But the music on here, well, its nineties and she doesn’t have that chest pounding song from that sappy romance flick on the boat.”
“I believe what he means is that there is a lack of traditional romance songs on this to indicate Cordelia fancies you.”
Angel was even more confused now that Gunn had clarified. Cordelia. Liking him. The whole idea just seemed strange to him. He reached for the case again, looking at the song titles. They were no help at all. The titles, the bands, it was like reading ancient Sanskrit. Sure, he could tell they were words, but together they didn’t mean anything. It might as well have said “Jacket Vibration Banana” for all the help it was doing him.
“But still, English. Mix. Tape.” Gunn said each word slowly, putting emphasis on them as if that was some secret code to Wesley. He seemed to understand it as he nodded his head in agreement with whatever Gunn was saying with those two simple words.
“Perhaps she is leading up to something more romantic in nature. There are several songs that would suggest that.” Wes reached for the tape again to check once more. He merely nodded his head as his suspicions were confirmed.
Angel’s head was spinning. The last relationship he was in, there were no presents and very few dates, at least not with him. He didn’t know what a mixtape in the dating world meant. He knew that Cordy knew. She was an expert in the dating world. So could this mean…could Wes and Gunn be right? He looked down at the tape in his hand knowing that he had to do one thing before he did anything else. He had to listen to it.
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Angel had listened to Cordy’s tape. The first listen of the tape, he just listened to the songs. He found some of them catchy, some of them sounded like noise, some of them he knew were remakes of older songs. On the second listen, he really tried to listen for the lyrics, at least on the songs he could understand. The third listen, he clutched a pen and paper in hand as he tried to scribble down lyrics, trying to decipher if any of them might have deeper meaning, as if Cordy was sending him some secret message through yards of shiny ribbon.
It was almost eight hours later and four listens before he had come to the conclusion that the only one who could explain the mystery of the mixtape to him was not Wes or even Gunn, it was going to have to be Cordy. With the sun now sunken way below the horizon and the stars starting to hazily blink from under a cloud of smog, Angel made his way to Cordy’s apartment.
He stood outside, tape in his jacket pocket, fingers turning it over nervously. He lifted his hand to knock, but Dennis opened the door before his knuckles touched wood. He looked inside, just past the small hallway to see Cordy sitting on the floor in front of her stereo, a collection of jewel cases littered around her. She turned quickly to him, putting a hand to her lips. Music floated out from her player. She was true to her word, making him another tape.
He stepped in, years of moving in the shadows, going unseen, now instantly invaluable to him. He didn’t cause a single board to creak or make the slightest noise with his clothing. He was soundless as he moved from the door to her couch. He even sat down without as much as a whoosh of air from his weight on the cushions.
Angel was amazed as he watched her working. She sat like a stone statue, not even a breath escaping her. Her eyes fixed on both the numbers of the CD player and the reel of the tape at the same time. She put so much time and effort into these tapes, he was nearly sure that Wes and Gunn were right in what they had said.
Cordy knew Angel was outside her door and her heartbeat instantly quickened. She had been dreading this moment since she left. The drive home had left her going over song after song in her mind. She kept asking herself why she was going to so much trouble. If it was just about teaching Angel music, she could have taken him to a record store and picked things out. There was something else. It wasn’t until she was sorting through her CDs for the second tape that she realized that what she was doing, who she was becoming, was that sensitive artsy type she had rejected in high school. And now Angel was here, tape long since thrown in the bin, ready to tell her that he got it, he might be dating dumb but he knew what a mixtape meant. It meant that her crush from high school was still buried deep inside of her and that he wasn’t interested. He had come to give her the brush off in person.
It was a shame too because she had been working so hard Angel’s Mix: Tape Two. It was so much harder because there was so much less to pick from. All her CDs were either used or illegally downloaded and burned. The burned CDs were haphazardly labeled so that if Wes saw what she was doing, he wouldn’t lecture her. “Billing Reports 01” was really Goriallz. Even when money was tight, she could at least have some music to get her through the rough times. When “Clint Eastwood” finished, she reached down to stop both the tape and then up to stop the CD. She couldn’t bring herself to look at Angel. It would be easier if he annihilated the last of her crush without eye contact.
“I always listen to this album when I’m cleaning. Don’t ask me why.” She laughed nervously, trying to hide her emotions, as she got up from her position slowly. “My legs totally cramped up. I must have been on that floor for hours.” She put one foot against the couch and leaning forward to stretch the muscle out, a distraction to prolong the inevitable. “So what brings you here? Wes have a fit because I took the night off to get my teaching materials together?” She moved to stretch out her other leg. Maybe she could convince Angel that she was still doing this to educate him so that he would spare her heart.
“No. I just came over because well, I listened to your tape. I listened to it a couple of times actually.” Angel felt a lump forming in his throat. Wes and Gunn had planted a seed in his head that he was allowing to grow into one big problem.
“Did you like it? I know a lot of it’s dancing music but I tried to put some brooding stuff in there. Only no Seattle bands, because you’re depressing enough as it is.” She hoped that Angel was still his oblivious self, that he hadn’t come to the same conclusion as she had in the time since she last saw him.
“It was very thoughtful.” He paused, gauging her reaction and picking his words very carefully. “Some of the songs, were very…romantic.”
She raised a brow as she felt her heart sink into her stomach. He wasn’t as dumb as he looked. “Really? I don’t remember putting that many ballads on there.”
He knew that Cordy either didn’t realize she had put romantic songs on there or she really didn’t. He didn’t like the idea of either one. He had allowed himself to hope that maybe the events of the last year were behind them, that now that he realized he could live without Buffy, he could move on like she had, find someone new. “I brought it with me.” He said meekly, taking the tape from his pocket and handing it to her.
“You didn’t throw it out?” She was surprised at how shocked her voice came out sounding.
“Why would I throw it out? You made it for me. It looks like it took a long time.” Angel handed the tape over to her for inspection.
She took the tape, opening it up and taking the insert from inside. “Let’s see. Well this song, I actually put this on here because after Xander broke my heart, I would sing this song as loud as I could into my hairbrush to make myself feel better. I thought it might help you too. And this song, well, I thought maybe if you realized that Everybody Hurts too, then you might not be so broody.”
He nodded his head, listening to her as she spoke. But she still hadn’t addressed any of the songs he thought were cryptic messages to him. He reached back for the tape. “What about this song? The lyrics.”
She leaned over to look at the one he was pointing too, shrugging her shoulders. “What do you mean? That song is about a guy singing to a girl who’s been hurt by a guy and telling her that he won’t ever hurt her the way this other guy did. ” She paused. “Oh yeah, okay, I see that.”
Angel merely sighed. It seemed to him that Cordelia had no ulterior motives with the tape. She was just picking songs that she liked. He sat on the couch. He should have never let Gunn and Wes put those crazy ideas into his head. He wanted to try, just one more time. He pointed again. “Cordy, this one is about a guy who is always leaving everyone in his life behind. He’s looking for someone to love.”
“I know, but it reminded me of you. Because you’ve got to see everyone grow old and die. You sort of leave them behind. I mean, come on, this song here is just some kids going Mmmmm Bop. Not all the songs on there have some deeper meaning, Angel.” She was trying hard now, desperate to make it seem all coincidental. Her heart was doing double time now, thudding out of her chest as the lies built up. She’d gotten her heart broken once and that was enough for one lifetime, in her opinion. “Oh…” She said, covering her mouth with her hand. “You thought. Mixtape. And…” She nodded her head. “Angel, I didn’t put any of the biggie romantic songs on here. Like I Will Always Love You or Nothing Compares To You. I wanted you to get a good smantering of music from all over. I didn’t make this because I am crushing on you.” Her lie faltered, her voice quivering slightly on the last sentence.
He didn’t catch the change in the tone of her voice because his heart was crushed. “I know that, Cordy. Like you said, education.” He said softly, broken now. He was getting one hell of an education from this experience. He was learning first not to listen to the two knuckleheads at the hotel and second, not to get his hopes up.
“Angel…” She reached for his hand, turning to look at him. “You’re my BFF.” But she had realized that she still wanted him as her best friend, just a best friend with some very key and non-soul losing benefits.
“What’s a BFF?” He just looked confused at her use of the slang. All he could think about was how to escape this situation with some shred of his dignity intact. He was a fool to think that Cordy would ever be interested in him. What he could offer her? Not a family, not a real relationship, not even sex.
“Best. Friend. Forever. I put friendship songs on there.” She was grasping at straws. She could tell. Her resolve was breaking with each question of his interrogation.
“You also put Damn, I Wish I Was Your Lover.” He just looked at her, all hope gone from his face. He looked like what he was, a man who had already lost so much and was losing that one bright spot that he had granted himself. He was made to suffer. He knew that. This was just another act in his penance for Angelus’ sins.
She was caught now. Her cheeks colored with the barest hint of pink to them. She chewed on her lip, not sure where to go from here. He seemed so determined to call her out, to prove that she had made this tape out of a crush instead out of friendship.
“Cordy, the lyrics of this one…” He reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a piece of paper covered in his hand writing. “What about ‘I want to love you the best, the best that I can’? Look at these lyrics, this is you. You are always telling me to smile.” He pointed to the paper in a last desperate attempt.
She continued to look at the tape, looking at the songs she had picked out, barely hearing Angel. Mixed in among the La Vida Locas and Baby Got Backs were some songs that could have been taken the wrong way. 2 Become 1, she was pretty sure that there was no doubt what that song was about! Building A Mystery, she could see how Angel could think that was about him, easily. She knew, during the process, that she was just picking songs. But her heart had other ideas. It had overridden her brain, sneaking in so many songs that were about her and Angel, which did express her feelings for him. It was time to come clean. She didn’t know how much longer she could keep up the snowball of lies.
“Angel, before you say anything else, let me just say something. You’re right. I did put romantic songs on there, and I did put songs about us on there. I didn’t realize what I was doing until I was driving home. I was going through the songs in my head and subconsciously, I put songs on there to give you the impression that I really want to be more than just your friend. Just now, I was trying to throw you off track because I’m scared. Rejection is not something that I enjoy. I don’t have much experience with it.” She spoke quickly, as fast as she could, to try to get it all out before Angel could interrupt her.
He paused after she spoke. Wes and Gunn were right. Cordy made him this tape because she did have a crush on him. He looked at the tape in his hands, not saying a word.
Cordy sighed deeply. “Yeah, I get it. This is where you tell me that you don’t want to ruin this great friendship because we just got it back where it was. And you’ll chuck the tape into the nearest trashcan you can find.” She moved to get up from the couch but found a hand on her arm, keeping her from moving.
“Wrong. You’re wrong about all of it. This present, I’m going to cherish it. And the whole reason that I came over here is because Wes and Gunn made me think I had a chance with you. That you felt the way about me that I feel about you.”
“Which is what? Exactly?”
His forehead wrinkled with thought and trepidation. He was never good with words. Now he was being forced to express something to a woman that had probably heard it dozens of times before and in more eloquent ways. “Without you in my life, there’s this darkness. It’ll consume me if I let it. You’re like this light. I don’t want to lose you. Never again. I want you all to myself.”
“You know a ‘Cordelia, I want to be more than friends too’ would have worked just as well.” She gave him a smile that instantly dissolved all the tension that had been hanging thickly in the air. Everything was out in the open and she felt good about it.
“What are you doing?” He asked as she got up from the couch, taking the tape with her.
“I’m putting in the first tape of a very long series. The Cordelia and Angel Mix.” She put the tape into the other deck, pressing play. She turned to grin at him, moving back to the couch and sliding comfortably into his embrace.
Author: xlivvielockex
Character (or Pairing): Cordelia/Angel, Wes, Gunn
Rating: PG
Word Count: 5,426
Warning(s): Do I need to warn for extreme fluff and cuteness! LOL
Author's Notes: S3-ish before Connor. Title (and inspiration) taken from Avenue Q's Mix Tape. More inspiration taken from VH1s Top 100 Songs of the 90s. Thanks always to my beautiful, talent, and never bitchy beta boy_named_susie. Written for fall_for_cordy
Extras: The actual mix tape that goes with this story can be found here
Cordelia reached for another CD from her collection, checking the back to make sure she remembered what track she wanted. She popped the CD from its case, holding it on one finger as she opened the top of her CD player with her free hand before sliding the sliver disc inside.
She looked around as if she could see Dennis. Usually a stir of some knickknack or a wisp of cool air would let her know that he was near. She just looked towards the last place he was, evidenced by the fact that her can of Diet Coke and open bag of chips were now turned towards her instead of the couch.
“Remember what I said. Not a noise. Not moving anything, not even rustling the tissues.”
She treated the whole operation with a precision that even few skilled surgeons had. This wasn’t just some hastily thrown together spirit project to support the football players. No, this was something else entirely. This was art. This was education.
She scrolled through to select the track, finger pressing play at the same time her other fingers hit record and play simultaneously on the tape deck below. She listened as the music began to filter out of the speakers. She even held her breath, worried that the machine would pick up the delicate sounds of her inhaling and exhaling.
There was a brief moment when she had considered just making a CD for Angel using the computer at work. It wasn’t until he came to her for the thousandth time this week, cell phone in hand, looking like a lost and scared puppy, begging her to help him access his voicemail, that she remembered that Angel wouldn’t be the kind of guy to even own a CD player. She’d be lucky if he even had a tape deck. He probably still had one of those big record players with the horn on top that old ladies seemed so fond of.
Even so, nothing was going to ruin her education of Angel. He had spent way too long with way too long dead dudes. Listening to symphonies and operettas that really only belonged in sports commercials and Disney flicks. His foray into modern music with Barry Manilow and Wang Chung wasn’t going to cut it. If Lorne hadn’t spilled to her that Angel had sung Everybody Have Fun and she knew he liked Manilow, she would have started his musical education a whole lot earlier, like the late 80s. For now though, she focused on her best of the nineties mix. It was a good time for her. Junior High was when she grew out of her boyish pre-teen figure and into the womanly figure that would carry her through high school and into the real world. It was the kind of self-esteem boost that every young girl needs. And the kind of social boost that allowed her to skyrocket to popularity and her pick of any boy around. High school was even better, even with the addition of Buffy Summers. Anthems of teen angst and grunge playing in her mind as she got covered in filth from being tackled by one too many vamps after being used for bait. She’d walk the halls of Sunnydale High, humming Barbie Girl, not only because it was catchy but because she was the material girl. Her life was fantastic. She screamed Alanis Morisette into her hairbrush after her breakup with Xander to help with the pain and anger. And Spice Girls blared in her ears on the bus ride to Los Angeles to put her in a sunny mood to start over.
Angel, she knew, if left to his own devices, would populate any collection of the nineties with Nirvana, Pearl Jam, and Alice in Chains. Seattle would probably be the best place for vampires. All those crunchy granola types; plus the sun never shone. She half wondered if it would be a good idea for the gang to take a working vacation up there, clear out some of the vampires that the city was sure to be infested with. Demonkind was kind of dumb when it came to setting up Hellmouths. Sunnydale, in California, of all places, wasn’t exactly screaming vampire friendly what with its almost endless sunny days. She could only think of one day of inclement weather, and everyone remembered that day. Then again, Angel was a vampire in sunny Los Angeles, driving around in a convertible. He wasn’t the poster boy for smart vampires, that was for certain.
She heard the tape click the end of the spool, and she let out her held breath. With countless mix tapes made for her by sensitive artist types, handed to her in poorly wrapped newspaper, she knew exactly how many songs would fit on your average Memorex. She popped the tape out, smiling at it. She had already written on the thin, white labels that now ran at the bottom of the tape, proclaiming it “Angel’s Mix. Tape One.” She knew that after listening to this, Angel would be eager to hear more current music. She’d move him out of the Stone Age and into the Rock Age.
Putting the tape aside, she reached for the stack of magazines she had gotten from the local thrift store. A pile of dusty Entertainment Weeklys, BOPs, and Tiger Beats all from her heyday lay scattered on her floor. She owned all of these when she was younger, when she had more disposable income to spend on tear out posters of Tom Cruise and Brad Pitt and Keanu Reeves. She’d tack the flimsy magazine pictures on her wall and stare at them as she and Harmony practiced how they would write their names once they were married to the superstars, *NSync blaring in the background. Even now, she still liked the idea of Cordelia Reeves. Or Cordelia Pitt. If she married Tom Cruise, she wouldn’t even have to worry about changing her monogrammed Louis Vuitton luggage once she divorced him to move onto someone bigger and better.
Now her main concern with the magazines wasn’t finding herself a future husband, it was designing an insert and cover for her mixtape. Men were visual, she knew that, and once Angel saw her collage of 90s superstars, she knew that he would have to smile at her artsy side. He had to know how long she had taken to painstakingly cut out pictures of Oasis and Red Hot Chili Peppers, knowing that she wanted to get as close as she could, with no white space, so she could fit them all.
It would have just been easier, she knew, to go to the used record store and load up on the tapes of the bands she had used in her mix. But where was the fun in that? She had gotten a certain charge once she had decided her mission, spending hours scouring her CD collection, checking out best of the nineties lists online, sneaking out to the Goodwill to snatch up all the old magazines. She suddenly understood how much those tortured artists types must have liked her to spend hours in their parents’ basements, wearing all black, trying not to cry as they put yet another Cure song on that tape. Sure, she was in a well lit apartment that she owned and she was wearing jeans and a blouse but she felt a kinship with those weirdos.
As she reached for the rubber cement, she knew that once Angel saw this, saw her effort, he wouldn’t just cram the tape into the nearest garbage can like she had done with so many of those mixtape gifts she had gotten, with their hand drawn artwork and hours of thought. Angel would appreciate this gift. And if he didn’t, if it didn’t inspire him to explore music outside of 80s synth-pop and elevator music, well, she’d just have to stake him.
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“What is this?” Angel looked at the wrapped square suspiciously. He was hoping it wasn’t another one of Cordelia’s culinary attempts. No matter how many times he had told her that he couldn’t taste, he found his blood sprinkled with cinnamon or chocolate shavings or just a hint of Tabasco, for the spicy flavored days.
Cordy merely rolled her eyes at Angel’s question. “I know you haven’t gotten any of these in your long life, but it’s a present.”
“Hey,” Angel said, getting slightly defensive. “I’ve gotten presents. Darla used to bring me virgins sometimes.”
“Yeah, and the gypsy girl that got you into this mess to start with. I’m talking post-curse and not of the human variety. Now come on, open it, I want to see your face.”
He gave her a sour look at the mention of the gypsy girl. It never surprised him to see that Cordy could take the most serious and heavy of topics, make a quip about them, and move on. It was an amazing survival skill, he knew that. One that he knew he would never possess.
He ripped into the wrapping paper, marveling at the sound that it made. She was right when she said that he didn’t get many presents. He couldn’t recall a single present Buffy had given him. Even in his mortal days, most presents from his family were functional and wrapped in cloth for special occasions. He almost felt bad, ripping and tearing into that paper, eager to get to the prize inside. He could tell from the thickness between his fingers that Cordy hadn’t gone for something cheap from one of the Mexican markets. She sprung for pricey paper. He knew it wasn’t his birthday or near any of the holidays like Christmas. It didn’t matter. The fact that he wasn’t expecting it, that was what made it more special. However, when he saw the tape, he looked up at her. confused.
“What is this?”
“It’s a mixtape.” She reached for it. She opened it up to show him. “You put it in a tape player, you know what that is, right? And you press play. I figured it was about time that you came into this century of music.”
He took the tape back from her. He turned it over in his fingers, pulling the tape out to see the artwork and insert inside. Cordy’s handwriting, neat and straight, like she used a ruler, covered the inside, listing each of the songs. The outside was still sticky from the rubber cement, balls of it sticking to his fingers as he ran them over the cut out pictures.
“Cordy…I don’t know what to say.”
“How about ‘thanks’? That’s always a good start. You know, like ‘thanks for pulling me out of the Vegas lounge act pit and into the modern era.’” She stood there, watching him as he continued to turn the tape in his hands.
He looked up at her, capturing her gaze for a moment with his. Thanks wouldn’t be nearly enough for a present like this. He could tell how much thought she had put into it, how much time it had taken to make the cover. “Thanks.” He managed to say.
“Really, was it that hard?” She rolled her eyes once more. Vampires. She’d have to add ‘showing gratitude about getting presents’ to the ever growing list of things she was going to have to teach Angel about.
It wasn’t that Angel didn’t know how to do it, he knew that when you got presents, you said thank you. Even without getting many himself, he wasn’t that socially inept. He just wasn’t expecting this sort of a present. A shirt in something other than black - that was more of Cordy’s style. Or a mug for his blood that said “World’s Best Boss.” “When did you find time to do all of this?”
She shrugged her shoulders. She didn’t want him to think that she put too much time in on it. There was friendly gesture, and then there was crazy stalker. “Had a lot of free time over the summer while you were off on your monkly journey. I knew when you got back, it would be time to start your education.”
“My education?” He sounded curious and scared at the same time.
“Yeah. I don’t think Lorne wants to hear you warble muz-ak in his club for the rest of his days. So I picked a couple of songs you might like to sing, you might relate to. And then some I really liked. And then like some of the anthems of the nineties.”
He once more looked at the tape in his hand, most of the band names utterly unfamiliar to him. He rarely turned the radio on in the GTX, rather liking his imposed silence. It was another subtle punishment that he could give himself without even realizing it, a subconscious torture, to have to listen to the sounds of the city, of the people in pain. But here was Cordy, once more trying to draw him from his self-imposed exile.
“If you like this one, I will make you a best of modern music tape.” She said, trying to drawn him from the trance that he had fallen into.
His head snapped up and he gave him a small but warm smile. “That would be great.”
She jumped up, putting her arms around his neck in a hug, happy that he liked her present so much. “I’m going to get to work on it right now! I’ll call if I get a vision.” She pulled away from him, bouncing out the doors of the hotel before Angel could say another word to her.
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Angel was still turning the tape over in his hands, having not yet listened to it, merely admiring the time, effort, and artwork that had gone into it when Wes and Gunn arrived back from a daytime patrol of a local park. News was that a group of baby loving (as in for a five course meal) demons was going to attack. From the looks of Wes and Gunn, bloodied, dirty, and covered in weary gore covered faces, they had found them. Both men moved wordlessly to the weapons cabinet, wiping the bits of demon skin and scale from their blades before putting them back.
Gunn was the first to approach Angel, who was still entranced by his first ever real gift. “What you got there?” He leaned over to examine just what held such fascination for the vampire.
Angel looked up, suddenly aware that he was no longer alone. “Oh…this…” He held the tape and case up for both to see. “It’s a mixtape. Cordy made it for me. A present. Look, she got expensive paper too.” He held it up as well, now neatly folded with torn edges sticking out.
“She made you a mixtape?” Gunn sounded slightly surprised. He hooked his head to indicate that Wes should come over and check it out. Wes made his way slowly towards the front desk, still sore from battle.
“She said that I needed to get into modern music. Said we’d start with the nineties.” He was proud of his present, beaming like a kid on Christmas as his fingers gripped it protectively.
“May I see it, Angel?” Wes inquired, his dirty hand held out. When he saw the look in Angel’s eyes, he reached for a tissue to at least clean his hands off before offering them out once more.
He reluctantly put the tape and case into the former Watcher’s hands. He watched as Wes turned the tape over, setting it down to examine the case. “It seems Cordelia put a great deal of work into this.” He said, coming to the same conclusion that Angel had come to the moment he saw it.
Gunn reached for the case, checking the insert out. “Hmmm…” was all he said in response. Angel panicked for a moment.
“Hmmm, what?”
“Nothing, just when a girl goes around giving a dude a mixtape, it usually means she is into that dude. But the music on here, well, its nineties and she doesn’t have that chest pounding song from that sappy romance flick on the boat.”
“I believe what he means is that there is a lack of traditional romance songs on this to indicate Cordelia fancies you.”
Angel was even more confused now that Gunn had clarified. Cordelia. Liking him. The whole idea just seemed strange to him. He reached for the case again, looking at the song titles. They were no help at all. The titles, the bands, it was like reading ancient Sanskrit. Sure, he could tell they were words, but together they didn’t mean anything. It might as well have said “Jacket Vibration Banana” for all the help it was doing him.
“But still, English. Mix. Tape.” Gunn said each word slowly, putting emphasis on them as if that was some secret code to Wesley. He seemed to understand it as he nodded his head in agreement with whatever Gunn was saying with those two simple words.
“Perhaps she is leading up to something more romantic in nature. There are several songs that would suggest that.” Wes reached for the tape again to check once more. He merely nodded his head as his suspicions were confirmed.
Angel’s head was spinning. The last relationship he was in, there were no presents and very few dates, at least not with him. He didn’t know what a mixtape in the dating world meant. He knew that Cordy knew. She was an expert in the dating world. So could this mean…could Wes and Gunn be right? He looked down at the tape in his hand knowing that he had to do one thing before he did anything else. He had to listen to it.
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Angel had listened to Cordy’s tape. The first listen of the tape, he just listened to the songs. He found some of them catchy, some of them sounded like noise, some of them he knew were remakes of older songs. On the second listen, he really tried to listen for the lyrics, at least on the songs he could understand. The third listen, he clutched a pen and paper in hand as he tried to scribble down lyrics, trying to decipher if any of them might have deeper meaning, as if Cordy was sending him some secret message through yards of shiny ribbon.
It was almost eight hours later and four listens before he had come to the conclusion that the only one who could explain the mystery of the mixtape to him was not Wes or even Gunn, it was going to have to be Cordy. With the sun now sunken way below the horizon and the stars starting to hazily blink from under a cloud of smog, Angel made his way to Cordy’s apartment.
He stood outside, tape in his jacket pocket, fingers turning it over nervously. He lifted his hand to knock, but Dennis opened the door before his knuckles touched wood. He looked inside, just past the small hallway to see Cordy sitting on the floor in front of her stereo, a collection of jewel cases littered around her. She turned quickly to him, putting a hand to her lips. Music floated out from her player. She was true to her word, making him another tape.
He stepped in, years of moving in the shadows, going unseen, now instantly invaluable to him. He didn’t cause a single board to creak or make the slightest noise with his clothing. He was soundless as he moved from the door to her couch. He even sat down without as much as a whoosh of air from his weight on the cushions.
Angel was amazed as he watched her working. She sat like a stone statue, not even a breath escaping her. Her eyes fixed on both the numbers of the CD player and the reel of the tape at the same time. She put so much time and effort into these tapes, he was nearly sure that Wes and Gunn were right in what they had said.
Cordy knew Angel was outside her door and her heartbeat instantly quickened. She had been dreading this moment since she left. The drive home had left her going over song after song in her mind. She kept asking herself why she was going to so much trouble. If it was just about teaching Angel music, she could have taken him to a record store and picked things out. There was something else. It wasn’t until she was sorting through her CDs for the second tape that she realized that what she was doing, who she was becoming, was that sensitive artsy type she had rejected in high school. And now Angel was here, tape long since thrown in the bin, ready to tell her that he got it, he might be dating dumb but he knew what a mixtape meant. It meant that her crush from high school was still buried deep inside of her and that he wasn’t interested. He had come to give her the brush off in person.
It was a shame too because she had been working so hard Angel’s Mix: Tape Two. It was so much harder because there was so much less to pick from. All her CDs were either used or illegally downloaded and burned. The burned CDs were haphazardly labeled so that if Wes saw what she was doing, he wouldn’t lecture her. “Billing Reports 01” was really Goriallz. Even when money was tight, she could at least have some music to get her through the rough times. When “Clint Eastwood” finished, she reached down to stop both the tape and then up to stop the CD. She couldn’t bring herself to look at Angel. It would be easier if he annihilated the last of her crush without eye contact.
“I always listen to this album when I’m cleaning. Don’t ask me why.” She laughed nervously, trying to hide her emotions, as she got up from her position slowly. “My legs totally cramped up. I must have been on that floor for hours.” She put one foot against the couch and leaning forward to stretch the muscle out, a distraction to prolong the inevitable. “So what brings you here? Wes have a fit because I took the night off to get my teaching materials together?” She moved to stretch out her other leg. Maybe she could convince Angel that she was still doing this to educate him so that he would spare her heart.
“No. I just came over because well, I listened to your tape. I listened to it a couple of times actually.” Angel felt a lump forming in his throat. Wes and Gunn had planted a seed in his head that he was allowing to grow into one big problem.
“Did you like it? I know a lot of it’s dancing music but I tried to put some brooding stuff in there. Only no Seattle bands, because you’re depressing enough as it is.” She hoped that Angel was still his oblivious self, that he hadn’t come to the same conclusion as she had in the time since she last saw him.
“It was very thoughtful.” He paused, gauging her reaction and picking his words very carefully. “Some of the songs, were very…romantic.”
She raised a brow as she felt her heart sink into her stomach. He wasn’t as dumb as he looked. “Really? I don’t remember putting that many ballads on there.”
He knew that Cordy either didn’t realize she had put romantic songs on there or she really didn’t. He didn’t like the idea of either one. He had allowed himself to hope that maybe the events of the last year were behind them, that now that he realized he could live without Buffy, he could move on like she had, find someone new. “I brought it with me.” He said meekly, taking the tape from his pocket and handing it to her.
“You didn’t throw it out?” She was surprised at how shocked her voice came out sounding.
“Why would I throw it out? You made it for me. It looks like it took a long time.” Angel handed the tape over to her for inspection.
She took the tape, opening it up and taking the insert from inside. “Let’s see. Well this song, I actually put this on here because after Xander broke my heart, I would sing this song as loud as I could into my hairbrush to make myself feel better. I thought it might help you too. And this song, well, I thought maybe if you realized that Everybody Hurts too, then you might not be so broody.”
He nodded his head, listening to her as she spoke. But she still hadn’t addressed any of the songs he thought were cryptic messages to him. He reached back for the tape. “What about this song? The lyrics.”
She leaned over to look at the one he was pointing too, shrugging her shoulders. “What do you mean? That song is about a guy singing to a girl who’s been hurt by a guy and telling her that he won’t ever hurt her the way this other guy did. ” She paused. “Oh yeah, okay, I see that.”
Angel merely sighed. It seemed to him that Cordelia had no ulterior motives with the tape. She was just picking songs that she liked. He sat on the couch. He should have never let Gunn and Wes put those crazy ideas into his head. He wanted to try, just one more time. He pointed again. “Cordy, this one is about a guy who is always leaving everyone in his life behind. He’s looking for someone to love.”
“I know, but it reminded me of you. Because you’ve got to see everyone grow old and die. You sort of leave them behind. I mean, come on, this song here is just some kids going Mmmmm Bop. Not all the songs on there have some deeper meaning, Angel.” She was trying hard now, desperate to make it seem all coincidental. Her heart was doing double time now, thudding out of her chest as the lies built up. She’d gotten her heart broken once and that was enough for one lifetime, in her opinion. “Oh…” She said, covering her mouth with her hand. “You thought. Mixtape. And…” She nodded her head. “Angel, I didn’t put any of the biggie romantic songs on here. Like I Will Always Love You or Nothing Compares To You. I wanted you to get a good smantering of music from all over. I didn’t make this because I am crushing on you.” Her lie faltered, her voice quivering slightly on the last sentence.
He didn’t catch the change in the tone of her voice because his heart was crushed. “I know that, Cordy. Like you said, education.” He said softly, broken now. He was getting one hell of an education from this experience. He was learning first not to listen to the two knuckleheads at the hotel and second, not to get his hopes up.
“Angel…” She reached for his hand, turning to look at him. “You’re my BFF.” But she had realized that she still wanted him as her best friend, just a best friend with some very key and non-soul losing benefits.
“What’s a BFF?” He just looked confused at her use of the slang. All he could think about was how to escape this situation with some shred of his dignity intact. He was a fool to think that Cordy would ever be interested in him. What he could offer her? Not a family, not a real relationship, not even sex.
“Best. Friend. Forever. I put friendship songs on there.” She was grasping at straws. She could tell. Her resolve was breaking with each question of his interrogation.
“You also put Damn, I Wish I Was Your Lover.” He just looked at her, all hope gone from his face. He looked like what he was, a man who had already lost so much and was losing that one bright spot that he had granted himself. He was made to suffer. He knew that. This was just another act in his penance for Angelus’ sins.
She was caught now. Her cheeks colored with the barest hint of pink to them. She chewed on her lip, not sure where to go from here. He seemed so determined to call her out, to prove that she had made this tape out of a crush instead out of friendship.
“Cordy, the lyrics of this one…” He reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a piece of paper covered in his hand writing. “What about ‘I want to love you the best, the best that I can’? Look at these lyrics, this is you. You are always telling me to smile.” He pointed to the paper in a last desperate attempt.
She continued to look at the tape, looking at the songs she had picked out, barely hearing Angel. Mixed in among the La Vida Locas and Baby Got Backs were some songs that could have been taken the wrong way. 2 Become 1, she was pretty sure that there was no doubt what that song was about! Building A Mystery, she could see how Angel could think that was about him, easily. She knew, during the process, that she was just picking songs. But her heart had other ideas. It had overridden her brain, sneaking in so many songs that were about her and Angel, which did express her feelings for him. It was time to come clean. She didn’t know how much longer she could keep up the snowball of lies.
“Angel, before you say anything else, let me just say something. You’re right. I did put romantic songs on there, and I did put songs about us on there. I didn’t realize what I was doing until I was driving home. I was going through the songs in my head and subconsciously, I put songs on there to give you the impression that I really want to be more than just your friend. Just now, I was trying to throw you off track because I’m scared. Rejection is not something that I enjoy. I don’t have much experience with it.” She spoke quickly, as fast as she could, to try to get it all out before Angel could interrupt her.
He paused after she spoke. Wes and Gunn were right. Cordy made him this tape because she did have a crush on him. He looked at the tape in his hands, not saying a word.
Cordy sighed deeply. “Yeah, I get it. This is where you tell me that you don’t want to ruin this great friendship because we just got it back where it was. And you’ll chuck the tape into the nearest trashcan you can find.” She moved to get up from the couch but found a hand on her arm, keeping her from moving.
“Wrong. You’re wrong about all of it. This present, I’m going to cherish it. And the whole reason that I came over here is because Wes and Gunn made me think I had a chance with you. That you felt the way about me that I feel about you.”
“Which is what? Exactly?”
His forehead wrinkled with thought and trepidation. He was never good with words. Now he was being forced to express something to a woman that had probably heard it dozens of times before and in more eloquent ways. “Without you in my life, there’s this darkness. It’ll consume me if I let it. You’re like this light. I don’t want to lose you. Never again. I want you all to myself.”
“You know a ‘Cordelia, I want to be more than friends too’ would have worked just as well.” She gave him a smile that instantly dissolved all the tension that had been hanging thickly in the air. Everything was out in the open and she felt good about it.
“What are you doing?” He asked as she got up from the couch, taking the tape with her.
“I’m putting in the first tape of a very long series. The Cordelia and Angel Mix.” She put the tape into the other deck, pressing play. She turned to grin at him, moving back to the couch and sliding comfortably into his embrace.