Work Text:
It’s only after Lizzie’s settled down to work, gotten distracted by a highly passive-aggressive memo from Caroline, gone and retrieved the coffee necessary for dealing with a passive-aggressive Caroline, and typed up three quarters of her reply to Caroline’s absurd demands that she notices the CD someone left on her desk.
There’s a sticky note on the front of the jewel case that says,
Lizzie-
Thought you might enjoy this playlist I threw together
-William
and Lizzie tries, very very hard, to quash a smile. She doesn’t succeed. She’s only been dating Darcy – er, William, it’s weird to call your boyfriend by his last name, but it’s habit now – for a few weeks, and she’s still surprised when he does cute things like this. Usually it’s just random heartfelt emails during her lunch hour, actually, although there was one time he sent her a live cactus for Earth Day.
Lizzie smiles anyway, aware that she looks absurd, grinning at a CD, and pops the disc into her computer to play while she works.
And that’s when her smile melts away.
It’s like some kind of horrific electronic gargling noise is coming from her computer. Sure, it fades into some dreamy female vocals after a few seconds, but it’s not exactly a romantic song. The next track starts out promisingly, and then turns into a man with a rather … unpleasant voice whining interminably about Jesus.
Lizzie is starting to get a bad feeling about this CD. She hits the fast forward button and – is that – oh god why-
When the fourth track starts playing, that’s when she calls Gigi. “Your brother made me a CD,” she blurts out immediately.
“Well, hello to you too,” Gigi replies. “And … which one did he send you?”
“I – he made multiples?” Lizzie says, unbelieving. “And it’s awful.”
“Did it start with Sufjan Stevens or Taylor Swift?” Gigi asks patiently.
“Neither, I think,” Lizzie tells her, “It was this kind of grating electronic stuff?”
“Oh, god,” Gigi groans, “I told him absolutely not to use that one.”
“I can see why,” Lizzie says bitterly, and hangs up.
The next track is much better, a kind of fairly standard pop dance music number. It’s a little cheesy, but the lyrics aren’t all that bad, really. Then there’s … acoustic Ke$ha?
When she gets to the song after that, some saccharine pop number that features lots of cheery lyrics about boyfriends and calling in some questionable English, she calls Darcy.
“I got your CD,” Lizzie says, and she hears Darcy swallow.
“Did you like it?” he asks, and Lizzie sighs.
“It’s a little strange,” she admits. “I mean, the first track kind of sounds like someone gave a garbage disposal a Passion Pit CD and told it to have fun.”
“Oh,” Darcy says, a little disappointed, but Lizzie’s only just getting started.
“And the whining in the next one! I’m not all that religious, but if I had been, after that I wouldn’t be anymore.”
“That’s Neutral Milk Hotel!” Darcy protests. “They’re excellent!”
“If that’s code for, ‘Pitchfork tolerates their nonsense and therefore so do you,’ I really couldn’t care less.” Lizzie states. “And – why would anyone make that mashup? More important, why would you share it with me?”
“You said The Little Mermaid was your favorite Disney movie,” Darcy says stiffly, “I assumed you’d enjoy it.”
“Well, it was certainly original,” Lizzie concedes. “But Gold Digger? Really?”
“I like Kanye,” Darcy says, “You said you don’t think I listen to pop music unironically, and there’s evidence that I do.”
“Gold Digger,” Lizzie repeats, dumbfounded. “Have – have you heard the lyrics? Did you not consider that, considering our history, it might not be the most appropriate song to include?”
There’s a pause. After a few seconds, Darcy says apologetically, “I may not have thought that one through entirely-“
“No kidding!” Lizzie says sarcastically.
“Too soon, then?” Darcy hedges.
“A thousand years in the future and it’ll still be too soon,” Lizzie confirms, and hangs up.
She feels a little bad for tearing into Will simply for trying to do something sweet for her, but despite her current feelings for him, she can’t dispute that he’s still rather awful at social interaction. Usually it’s more endearing than anything, but putting “Gold Digger” on a mixtape, considering his history with interfering in Bing and Jane’s relationship? Yeah, in Lizzie’s opinion, that goes far beyond mere social cluelessness and speaks to Darcy’s genuine cruel streak. She knew it existed, and it’s not like she didn’t have one very similar, but still.
Lizzie sighs, and the next song starts to play.
Wait, sings the vocalist, They don’t love you like I love you, and her voice is filled with so much genuine emotion that Lizzie picks up the phone again and calls William back.
“Sorry I yelled at you for something silly,” she says into the phone, at exactly the same time that Darcy says, “Sorry I didn’t think before I made that CD.”
“No, you first-“ they say simultaneously, and Lizzie lets out an amused sigh.
“Okay, me first,” she says. “I kept listening to the album, and while you were 100% wrong to think that ‘Gold Digger’ was acceptable, I may have … overreacted somewhat. You were just trying to do something nice for me, and I flipped out.”
“No,” Darcy says, “You were right. I just didn’t think.”
Lizzie smiles, and in the space between Darcy’s words and her own, an acoustic cover of ‘Mmmbop’ has started playing, and she just has to laugh hysterically.
“Seriously?” she snorts. “’Mmmbop’???”
“Oh God,” William groans, “I thought I took that one off. Sorry, again.”
“Meet for lunch today?” Lizzie asks, and Darcy sighs.
“I can’t, sorry, big meeting,” he apologizes. “But we’ll get dinner somewhere nice to make up for it, okay?”
Lizzie smirks. “I rather thought we could stay in tonight, actually,” she suggests, faux-innocent, and enjoys hearing Will break out into a spontaneous coughing fit on the other end of the line.
“7 o’clock, your place, I’ll bring the chocolate sauce,” she informs him, and then hangs up the phone for the third time that day. “I should really stop doing that, it’s rude,” she mutters, and then restarts the CD. The gargling is a bit much, but Kanye keeps growing on her.