Part 5
New Year’s Eve isn’t all that special. When it comes right down to it, it’s just a night like any other night. It starts when the sun goes down and ends when the sun goes up. Nothing special there.
Angel had been telling himself that for several hours now. It wasn’t working.
He’d turned off the music soon after Cordelia had left, determined not to spend the entire night wallowing. He tried to distract himself by giving Connor a bath. Connor loved bath time. He couldn’t get enough of the water. Cordy had bought him lavender soap that was supposed to make babies sleepy and this little terry-cloth robe thingy to wrap him up in afterwards. She would sing forgotten songs from the eighties and Connor would gurgle and coo.
Angel couldn’t find the robe or the special soap so he tried to make up for it by humming and dancing around. The forced gaiety made the baby tense and cranky. Connor kicked and screamed and by the end, they were both soaking wet and miserable.
Once father and son were dried and changed, they settled in on the bed to watch “Steel Magnolias.” For two hours, as the southern women on the screen laughed and cried and laughed and then cried more, Angel tried to comfort the fussy baby, to no avail. I guess he’s not a big Sally Field fan. It must be genetic. She’s given me the willies ever since she played that flying nun.
He fed the baby the fancy formula, which Connor ended up loving. Watch, now he’ll never settle for the cheap stuff again. I’m going to have to start charging helpless people more all so I can keep my son in the lifestyle he’s become accustomed to. That folks, is the miracle of Cordelia.
Connor had seemed to settle down after eating and was dozing in his crib. For now, at least. Angel had turned off the lamp beside his bed, so now the only light that filled the room was the flashing blue shadows from the TV. He’d put it on mute after the video had ended, but he’d kept it on. It was funny. A long time ago, he would have preferred to sit in darkness.
Maybe add a candle or two, for more tortured brooding ambiance. But not now. Now he found the flickering lights from the television comforting. He wasn’t exactly sure when that had happened. Couldn’t have been too long ago. I only put the TV in here a couple of months ago.
It was right after Connor was born. Angel had still been having a hard time even trusting the others to hold the baby. There was this tiny little creature, this life, that he’d helped create. A baby that existed because of him and was utterly helpless, dependent on Angel for everything.
It’s only natural that I had issues. I mean, Gunn was giving advice like “Hold the baby like a football” and Wes looked like he couldn’t wait to stick Connor under a microscope and study him.
Even with Cordelia and Fred, it was hard passing over the baby. Fred sort of knew what she was doing but she was also still suffering from Post-Hell Dimension Stress. And Cordelia…well, she’d never come off as anything resembling nurturing. Angel had nightmares about leaving her alone with the baby and returning to find his young son’s toenails painted.
What had it taken to change his mind? At the hospital, right after they’d named the baby, he’d handed Connor to Cordy. And Angel saw what it did to her. Her mouth had parted in what could only be described as awe. Her voice changed, into something warm and almost…maternal.
She’d placed the baby in the stroller so carefully, like he was made of glass. “Like he was a pair of shoes,” Gunn had later recounted. Regardless, it was clear, then and there, that Connor would hold a place in Cordelia’s closely guarded heart, a place few of them would even approach.
Everything after that had sort of just happened. In that way women have, Cordy was just suddenly THERE, giving the baby baths and going for checkups. He trusted her implicitly. She read that signing to babies helped them learn to talk earlier –Angel started learning sign language.
Cordy said Connor needed more stimulation—Angel bought the fifty-dollar mobile. It still hurt, to pass the baby over to her. But not for the same reason.
Nothing could be more natural then easing the baby into Cordelia’s arms. It was so familiar and wonderful and then he would remember that it was a lie. The three of them, they weren’t some family. Cordelia would be there for Connor’s first words, but he would call her “Aunt Cordy.” She would one day argue over which school he’d attend, but Connor would never get scared in the middle of the night and crawl into bed between them. Everyday, the two of them played house, but Angel never forgot for a second that it was just a game.
That didn’t mean he wouldn’t enjoy the game while it lasted. Cordy started taking Connor upstairs for his bottle. Sometimes Angel would join them. Other times he’d stand right outside the door, just listening. To the happy harmony of their heartbeats. To Connor’s nonsensical babble, which Cordelia would interpret anyway she saw fit. To her off-key renditions of “Leaving on a Jet Plane.”
I don’t know why she refuses to just sing Connor normal lullabies. God forbid the woman sing “Hush Little Baby,” or “Row Row Row Your Boat.” Instead she warbled a gamut of non-traditional songs. Motown. The soundtrack to “Grease.” Aerosmith. Incredibly, Connor seemed to love it all. Especially REO Speedwagon. I’m going to end up with a child that knows all the words to “Keep on Loving You.” Oh the shame.
That’s how Angel ended up with a combination TV/VCR in his room. Cordelia would whine and whine about how there was nothing to do in there. Angel had come upstairs one day and seen that she’d rearranged all of his drawers. She’d left a little post-it in the bathroom making fun of his collection of Sonicare electric toothbrushes. She wouldn’t laugh if she knew what blood does to tooth enamel. Gotta keep those fangs pearly white.
But Angel had worried about what else she might find snooping around in there—besides the aforementioned book of scandalous sketches. There were just certain things Cordy didn’t need to know. Things she would have a field day with. The pictures taken of me during the Disco Era. My copy of “Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus.” The stack of Playboys under my mattress.
So he’d gotten a television. To keep her entertained. Cause the more entertained Cordy was, the less she snooped. And also because then she couldn’t use boredom as an excuse to leave. And it worked. Most nights she doesn’t make it out of here until one or two in the morning. They fell into an odd schedule of sorts. Cordy would have a vision.
She’d lay down in his bed to recuperate while Fred watched the baby and the men went out and killed the bad guys. Angel would come back in time to catch the beginning of “Conan O’Brien” with her, Connor securely cuddled between them. Cordy would take off when “Last Call” came on. If Carson Daly wasn’t such a dumbass, I bet Cordelia would spend the night. Damn You Carson.
From his crib, Connor began to whimper and fuss, prompting Angel to quit his reverie. Getting up, he glanced at the clock. It was 11:57. Three minutes until midnight. Time had suddenly become such a relative thing. He’d walked the earth for hundreds of years and still, this was turning out to be the longest night of his life.
Angel picked the baby up. He turned the volume on the television up. It didn’t help. Angel was shocked by how lonely he felt. He shouldn’t be lonely. Not when he could feel his child’s fluttery heartbeat through his shirt and hear the roar of the Times Square crowd as the seconds ticked away. Angel was lonely though. Empty. No, that’s not right. Not empty. Just not quite full. Something is missing. Ha! I love how I say that. Like I don’t know what’s missing. Who’s missing.
“Women are trouble,” Angel told his son ruefully. Connor smacked his gums and looked up at his father. “You’ve probably already picked up on that. But if you haven’t, don’t worry, you will.” Connor nodded seriously as Angel started to pace.
“I’m not going to go so far as to say women are evil. They’re not. They’re just…complicated. They bring out the best and worst in you. God, they make you crazy…she makes me crazy. How bout that Connor? Daddy’s insane and it’s all your Aunt Cordy’s fault.”
The baby’s little hand suddenly swung out, slapping softly against Angel’s jaw. The vampire chuckled softly. “Okay, okay, relax. It’s not all her fault. It’s MOSTLY her fault.” Connor eyed him warily. “Never let yourself need a woman Connor. Like them all you want. Fall in love. Have a ball. But never start to need her. I mean it, it’ll bring you nothing but heartbreak.” Angel walked over towards the TV so they could watch the countdown.
“Sure, it’s fine, needing her, when she’s around. But they leave Connor. They sucker you into needing them and then they leave. They go out on New Year’s Eve in dresses designed by the devil himself, and they leave you aching and babbling to your infant son.”
On the television, Dick Clark shouted “Almost time now! Everyone! Ten!….Nine!…”
“And once you need a woman, that’s it. You can’t just stop. Believe me, I’ve tried,” Angel continued. “You think I want to be like this? I don’t. Look at the mess Aunt Cordy has turned me into.”
“Eight!…Seven!…Six!…” the crowd chanted along with Dick.
“Thank God for Gunn. You’ll need a strong male role model and I just don’t think I can be that for you. Not with Cordelia twisting me up inside this way,” Angel rambled.
“Five!…Four!…”
“Not that Wesley isn’t strong. It’s just that he’s English,” the father told his son, seemingly oblivious to the madness on the TV screen.
“Three!…Two!…ONE!…Happy New Year!”
It was the blaring of car horns outside that brought Angel back from his lecture. “Huh?” He looked at the TV. Fireworks lit up the New York skyline. Confetti was everywhere. Dick Clark slipped his wife the tongue on national television.
Angel brushed a kiss on the top of his son’s head. “Happy New Year Connor,” he said. Happy New Year to me, too. Gee, and I have so much to look forward to, don’t I? Twelve more months of pining for Cordelia like some lovesick puppy.
Three hundred and sixty-five more days that always end the same way, with her walking away. Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes of pretending that nothing’s changed, that nothing’s different, even though everything is different. Everything has changed. Stake me now.
“Would you do that for me, Connor? Would you please stake Daddy?” Angel muttered. The baby burrowed his head further into Angel’s shoulder.
“Here’s wishing you and yours the happiest of years,” he heard Dick Clark say. “I hope everyone out there is spending this special night with the people you love.”
Angel sighed in annoyance. “Okay, forget about staking Daddy. Someone needs to stake that guy. Seriously, people go on and on every single year about how Dick Clark never ages. I can’t believe one of them hasn’t figured out WHY.” Angel leaned down to whisper in Connor’s ear. “If you think he’s bad now, you should have seen him back then. Him and Dru had a thing once.” Angel reached down and turned the television off.
“So that’s it big guy. That’s your first New Year’s Eve. I know, I know, it didn’t really live up to your expectations. But I’ll think you’ll find that pretty much happens every year. You figure you’ll spend the night with your friends and then they all go out without you. You guess that the girl of your dreams will come to her senses and come rushing in at 11:59 and that doesn’t happen either. You’re sure she’ll at least call to wish—”
BRRRINGG! Angel’s monologue was cut off by the ringing phone. “Looks like I spoke to soon,” Angel said as he ran to the phone. She’s probably just calling to see if I cried during “Steel Magnolias.” Or, or maybe she had a vision. Maybe someone’s in trouble. Maybe Cordy’s in trouble. Or…or she could just be calling to wish me a Happy New Year. Then again, she could be calling to brag about how many guys she kissed at midnight. He picked up the phone.
“He—hello?” Angel said hesitantly.
“Angel?” he heard, over an incredible amount of background noise. It wasn’t the voice he had been expecting, but it wasn’t unfamiliar either.
“Fred?” he shouted so he could hear her. “Hey. How are you? Is everything okay?” he asked, shifting Connor to his other shoulder.
Fred paused and then exhaled dramatically. “Everything is…wonderful. Incredible. Insane. Insanely, incredibly wonderful,” she screamed.
“That’s nice Fred.” Despite the suckiness of his own night, Angel was happy for her. Fred sounded like she was having the time of her life. She also sounded more than a little drunk.
“I met so many people. Gunn has a million friends. Wes did the running man. Oh and some guy tried to pick me up! He gave me his card. And then Gunn and Wes threatened him. It was just like when you and Cordelia go out!”
Not exactly. I never let guys get close enough to give Cordy their cards, Angel thought, smiling grimly.
“Oh and the music is great. And I did a keg stand. And some shot, called ‘Three Wise Men.’ And everything is spinning and beautiful.”
“I’m glad you’re having such a good time,” Angel told her, rubbing the baby’s back softly.
“And then, at midnight, we kissed,” Fred squealed.
Angel froze. This was not good. Well, it was good for one of the guys. But really not good for the other. Which could mean big trouble. He could picture this going horribly horribly wrong. This was why workplace romances were such a bad idea. Ha! Like I really believe that.
“Who’s we?” Angel asked with dread.
“Me and Gunn.” Angel nodded to himself. Poor Wesley. “Then me and Wesley,” Fred told him. Huh? “Then Gunn and Wesley.” Oh. Okay. Got it.
Before Angel could come up with an appropriate response, Fred asked him if he would hold on a second. He heard her tell someone that she would be right back and then the background noise got slightly less blaring.
“That’s better. Sorry about that Angel, I could barely hear you.”
“No problem.”
“So, how is your night going?” Fred asked.
“Oh, pretty well,” Angel said breezily. He glanced suspiciously at Connor, daring the baby to contradict his lie. Connor just slurped on his fingers.
“Have you heard from Cordelia?”
“Ahh, no,” Angel told her.
“Oh well, I’m sure she’s fine. She’s probably just busy flirting with millionaires.” Angel cringed. And thank you so much Fred for that mental picture.This phone call needed to end.
“Well Fred, I better let you get back to the party.”
“What?” Fred shouted as the music around her got louder. “Oh, okay. Hey guys, Angel’s on the phone.”
“Happy New Year” Wes and Gunn slurred.
“Angel? They said—”
“I heard. You guys be safe. No one drive.”
Fred hiccupped loudly into the phone. “You got it. Us guys will drive and no one will be safe. Wait, I didn’t mean that. I meant…well, you know what I meant. Nighty-night Angel.”
“Goodnight Fred,” Angel said and hung up the phone. He looked down at Connor, who was still sucking away on those fingers. “Looks like it’s just you and me kid.”
“And me,” came a voice from the doorway.
Angel blinked at the figure just outside in the hall. He’d turned off the television so the room was almost completely dark, except for the light filtering in through the window. Pretty much all he could make out was an outline of a person. But I know those curves anywhere.
“Cor—Cordelia?” Angel’s voice came out in a harsh whisper. He cleared his throat and started again. “You…I…Cordelia?” he stuttered. Oh yeah, that’s much better.
Cordy pressed her lips together like she was trying to contain a smile. “Were you expecting someone else?”
She took a few steps closer. A sliver of moonlight caught on her, illuminating a slice of jaw, the arc of her perfect cheekbone. Angel could smell her now. His teeth clenched as an onslaught of pure desire raced through his body. How could he want her so desperately? How could he want her so desperately and she not know?
“Uh, no. No one else. But I wasn’t expecting you. I mean, I was expecting you, I just was expecting you to be busy making out with the orthodontists by now.” Even he had to shake his head at that one.
What was it about Cordelia that made him fumble? Even with Buffy…it was never like this. Everything then had an air of dramatic intensity…never stumbling foolishness. With Buffy I was Humphrey Bogart in “Casablanca.” Cordy walks into the room and I’m Jimmy Stewart in…well, in every movie he ever made.
“Right. Orthodontists,” she said, gliding over toward the bed. She turned the switch of the lamp on the nightstand, filling the room with a warm glow, pushing the shadows back into the corners where they belonged. “Let me tell you something I learned about orthodontists tonight. Besides their teeth and their bank accounts, they don’t have much going for them.”
Angel barely heard her. He was too busy looking. The light from the lamp illuminated the glowing skin. It made the highlights in her hair the color of fresh honey. She was at once both a golden goddess and a sinful temptress. Hundreds of years ago, in another life, the Galway villagers he grew up with would have burned her at the stake. Women weren’t supposed to look like she did. That kind of power over men, it wasn’t natural.
“And if you think orthodontists are bad, agents are ten times worse.” Cordelia was still talking about her evening. “They honestly think telling you about a part as Bloody Extra Number Two on “ER” means you’ll sleep with them. As if. Of course, if George Clooney was still on, I’d have to think about it.” She waited for him to laugh and when he didn’t, her face scrunched up into a frown. “Hey, big guy, I’m making with the funny here. Mind paying attention?”
“Uh, what? Oh right. Clooney. Sure,” Angel stuttered.
“Have you been drinking something besides blood tonight?” Cordelia walked around the bed to where he still stood holding the baby.
Angel made a pained face. No I haven’t been drinking, but now that I think about it, I could use a glass of whiskey right now. Screw that “glass” crap. The way she’s dressed, I’m going to need the whole bottle. “Of course I haven’t been drinking.”
She didn’t look like she believed him.
“Cordy what are you doing here?” What, you couldn’t wait until tomorrow to start torturing me? Just had to come here and rub it in my face? Angel was suddenly gripped with fear when another theory popped into his head. “Did you have a vision?” he barked out roughly.
“Vision? No.” Then she seemed to think about it. “Well, actually, yes.”
“You did?” Connor gave a little squeak when Angel, in his panic, started to squeeze him too tightly. Cordy moved even closer.
“Yeah. I had a vision,” she confirmed, rubbing the baby’s back softly. “I had a vision of you and Connor, all cozy and comfy and happy. And then I had a vision of me, getting sloppy drunk and spilling God knows what on my brand new dress and then swapping spit with God knows who at midnight.” Cordelia snaked her arms under Angel’s and scooped the baby out of his arms. “So I figured, why bother? Why stick around there when I’d much rather be—uh, Connor!” she groaned good-naturedly, as his drool started to run down her bare arm.
Angel used his sleeve to wipe her off. “You’d much rather be…” he prompted.
Cordy flashed a quick grin. “Be here, dummy. I’d rather be here, crashing your Boys Night.” Angel’s heart somersaulted in his chest. Utterly unaware of his cardiac acrobatics, Cordelia stepped away and raised the baby above her head.
“How bout that sweetie? Do you mind if your Aunt Cordy hangs out here for a while? Huh? I’m not so bad, even if I am a girl. I’m younger than your daddy AND Dick Clark, so I’m pretty much your best option.” Connor waved his arms down at her and blew a bubble.
Cordy turned back to Angel. “Oh, spit bubble. That means yes! I’m staying.” She brought the baby back against her chest and started attacking his entire face with kisses. He wondered in what language blowing a bubble was a valid form of communication.
Angel stood immobile as Cordelia grabbed Connor’s half empty bottle and kicked off her heels. He didn’t say a word when she situated herself on the bed like she owned the place. He barely blinked when half the carefully placed pillows ended up on the floor in her frantic search for the remote control.
Cordelia leaned back against the headboard and cuddled Connor to her breasts. Angel heard her hum the first few bars of “Keep on Loving You,” and he closed his eyes.
What the hell is going on? I had this whole night planned. It was going to be mostly brooding, followed by contemplating my misery. And then she walks in and ruins the whole thing. What is she doing here? She said she’d rather be here than at the party. But what does that mean? She’s looking pretty cozy on my bed. What does THAT mean? That’s it. This is too confusing. I’m beyond crazy now. God I hate this woman.
“So Angel,” Cordy drawled, smiling at him brightly and patting the empty spot next to her. “What are we watching?”
God I love this woman. “Whatever you want,” he said simply. “Whatever you want, Cordelia.”