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Crowley scrolled through his phone for the umpteenth time; dismissing all the ideas showed on the tiny screen. No. Done this before. Not nearly suave enough. Boring. Not interesting. Looked like something either Heaven or Hell (or both) had invented to bother their opponent. Too interesting (he wanted to impress Aziraphale, didn’t want the angel to become so distracted that he forgot his favorite demon for the entire evening).
The demon sighed. Why was it so hard to come up with something to impress the angel? Not Impress with a capital I, just something that would show Aziraphale that Crowley was capable of creating something beautiful. Besides the stars, obviously, but you couldn’t even see his from here.
Crowley looked down at his phone. “Come up with something,” he muttered. “Anything to impress him.” His eyes broadened. The phone, not used to being asked nicely, had apparently decided to help him out.
The demon looked at the picture. A small smile softened his features. Yeah. Definitely. The perfect idea.
Alright. The idea of a champagne tower was definitely perfect. But perhaps Aziraphale had seen such a thing before. And if he had, there was every chance that he wouldn’t be impressed the second time around.
So before Crowley could get himself into even more trouble than usual, he decided to . . . well, not actually ask because since when was that something they used, but to make sure that he wouldn’t make a complete fool of himself.
Later that evening, when Aziraphale was happily reading on the couch and Crowley was leaning against him in an intimidating fashion (not that Aziraphale was all that intimidated, judging by the way he smiled) the demon cleared his throat. “Angel?”
“Hmm?” Aziraphale looked up from his book.
“What’s your opinion on towers?” Crowley asked in his most innocent ‘this is not important, has definitely nothing to do with a surprise I might be planning’ tone of voice.
Aziraphale, who knew Crowley better than the demon would ever suspect, tilted his head sideways. “Oh, I am not a fan. Too many bad memories.”
Crowley’s eyebrows climbed his forehead. “Really?”
“Definitely.” Aziraphale nodded. “The number of times I’ve had to visit some poor human wrongfully imprisoned in that dreadful place . . .” He shuddered. “And don’t even get me started on having to sneak in using the Traitor’s Gate.”
The demon blinked. Right. Aziraphale, the master of non-sequitur. “What are you on about?”
“The Tower!” Aziraphale exclaimed. “You asked about my opinion on . . .”
“Not the Tower,” Crowley grinned. “A tower.”
“Any tower?” Aziraphale frowned. “Well, in that case . . . I don’t suppose I really have an opinion.”
“Good,” Crowley smiled.
“Why do you ask?” Aziraphale narrowed his eyes. “Are you planning on building a tower in the garden?”
“Nope. Definitely not.” Crowley shook his head for good measure. “Was just wondering, s’all.”
“About my opinion on towers.” Aziraphale smiled. “You never cease to amaze me, my dear.”
“Then my work here is done,” the demon jumped to his feet. “I’ll get us something to drink, yeah?”
“Yes, we’re not nearly sober enough if we are to discuss our preferences on things that came out of nowhere.” Aziraphale replied tartly.
Crowley grinned as he went in search of alcohol. Right. No opinions on towers. Then the angel had definitely not seen a champagne tower before. It would’ve been among the towers he’d talked about if he had.
Now all he had to do was to learn to build one.
And really . . . how hard could that be?
The next day:
“Right.” Crowley said. “Aziraphale has gone next door to swap stories with the neighbor. We don’t call it gossip, that would be hinting at something the angel doesn’t do, but you and I both know the truth. And he is going to be gone for the next couple of hours, which means that . . .” He pointed at all the glasses. “We have plenty of time to practice.”
The demon made a face, almost as if the glasses had expressed their opinion. “Yeah, I’m not a fan of practicing either. Don’t think it’s necessary. Not when it involves alcohol. But I am not going to leave this to chance.”
He grabbed one of the glasses. Held it towards the light. “The angel prefers flutes. But you can’t stack that kind of glasses. So we’re going to use you instead.” He placed the glass gently on the floor. “Right. So far so good.”
Crowley turned towards the kitchen counter and glared at the ninety-nine remaining champagne glasses. He pointed at the single glass on the floor. “This is how I expect you to behave. With style. Got it?”
The glasses didn’t respond. The demon nodded sharply. Picked up the second glass and placed it next to the first one.
Two hours later:
CRASH.
“Shit,” Crowley hissed. He snapped his fingers; a snap that changed a pile of broken glass into one hundred champagne glasses neatly placed on the kitchen counter. For the twentieth time.
The demon turned back towards the kitchen counter. Made a mental note to pat himself on the back later for his outstanding display of patience. Why was it so hard to stack a few glasses? It really shouldn’t be all that difficult, should it? Why weren’t the glasses cooperating? Didn’t they realize that this was important?
“Right.” He inhaled. “NOW LISTEN UP, YOU LOT. I WILL NOT STAND FOR . . .”
“Crowley?” The kitchen door opened and Aziraphale peeked inside. “Is everything all right?”
“Aziraphale.” Crowley turned around, a wide, game-show-host smile on his face. “Been back for long?”
“Who were you shouting at? And was that glass breaking? Are you in trouble?” Aziraphale entered the kitchen and Crowley jumped back towards the kitchen counter; spreading his arms widely in a futile attempt to hide all the glasses.
It would later occur to him that merely snapping the glasses out of existence, or using his wings to hide them from view, would have been so much more efficient. But of course Aziraphale was already in full Principality mode and seeing Crowley’s wings out would definitely not have calmed him down.
The demon deflated. Tucked his hands inside his pockets and stepped aside.
“Oh my.” Aziraphale exhaled. He looked at all the glasses. “I never realized we had that kind of glasses.”
“We didn’t,” Crowley muttered.
“Then, may I ask why we have them now?” Aziraphale kept looking at the glasses, almost as if he expected them to answer.
“Iwantedtobuildachampagnetower,” the demon mumbled.
“Sorry, what was that?” Aziraphale turned away from the glasses.
“I wanted to build a champagne tower,” Crowley exclaimed. “For New Year’s Eve.”
“A tower made of champagne?” Aziraphale looked at Crowley as if he’d spontaneously decided to paint the kitchen a deep shade of pink.
The demon sighed. Took out his phone, pressed a few buttons and held the screen towards Aziraphale. “Like this. A champagne tower.”
“Oh,” Aziraphale breathed.
Crowley shoved the phone back into his pocket. “Thought you’d like it.”
The angel beamed at him. “Crowley, that’s the sweet-”. He stopped talking when the demon glared at him. “I mean, that’s the most demonic thing you’ve done all year. So many champagne glasses would have lead to gluttony. We would definitely not have stopped drinking until we’ve used all the glasses.”
“It’s not just using all the glasses, angel,” Crowley said. He took his phone out again and showed Aziraphale the screen. “See? It’s like a fountain, really.”
Aziraphale squinted at the video playing. “Oh, that’s clever. You only pour champagne into the first glass. And then it flows down to fill the other glasses.” He frowned. “But won’t that make an awful mess?”
“Why would it do that?” Crowley sounded genuinely baffled.
“The first glass overflows. The champagne trickles down to the glass underneath it. But it all happens on the outside. So the glasses beneath would . . . Allow me to demonstrate.”
Aziraphale turned towards the kitchen counter. Picked up three glasses and walked the short distance to the sink where he arranged the glasses in a small tower. He turned towards Crowley. “Now, watch what happens when I turn on the tap.” He turned the tap on very slowly, only allowing a small stream of water.
Crowley watched as the water flowed into the glass on top. And groaned when the glass overflowed, sending water cascading down into the glasses beneath it. Because there it was. The proof that liquid didn’t flow down to the next level of glasses without touching the outside. At best, it would only make some of the glass sticky. At worst, most of it would end up nowhere near a glass. “Ah, shit. Sticky glasses. Definitely not on. And there’s every chance you waste some of the champagne.”
Aziraphale turned off the water. “My thoughts exactly. I think you need an awful lot of practice to create something like this.”
He neatly wiped the three glasses and put them back with the remaining ninety-seven. “Although the amount of glasses look just about right. We do have a tendency to drink a lot of champagne.”
The demon shook his head. “And that’s another thing. Fifty glasses of champagne for each of us. We’ll be royally pissed before we’re even halfway. Imagine going up to that tower and try to grab a fresh glass . . .” He shuddered. “Glass everywhere. And champagne all over the floor.”
“Not that it’ll be fresh.” Aziraphale remarked. “All the bubbles will be long gone before we’re even halfway.”
“Yeah.” The demon sighed. “Not my brightest idea, that.”
Aziraphale’s face softened. “Nonsense. It was very pretty. On the screen. Where it didn’t interfere with the actual drinking.” He tilted his head sideways. “What brought this on? Are you bored with drinking champagne the traditional way? Because we can always use a few miracles in case you really want a champagne tower.”
“S’not that.” Crowley shifted slightly. His face was definitely warmer. He might be catching a slight fever. Either that or he was blushing fiercely. He honestly couldn’t decide which option he preferred. “Just wanted to create something beautiful. To impress you.”
“Impress me?” Aziraphale frowned. “How could you ever think you haven’t already? Just think of all the times you rescued me. Even rescued the books that one time.”
“Not impress like that.” The demon shrugged. Well, it was definitely too late to back down now. “More like . . . Look. You can do things. With your hands. You restore books. Read old scrolls without damaging them. Take care of your clothes. And most of your things are old. Fragile. But you keep them going. I just wanted to . . .” He swallowed. “. . . do something without using a miracle.”
“Dearest.” Aziraphale exhaled. “Have you taken a look outside recently? Have you looked at our garden? The garden you created?”
“Mostly by screaming and yelling,” Crowley muttered.
“Nonsense.” Aziraphale’s tone of voice left very little room for argument. “I’ve seen you work out there. The way you pruned the rose bushes. Nursed the old apple tree back to life. Created your own mulch. Weeded by hand. And don’t even get me started on the seedlings.”
“You saw that?” Crowley’s fever, or rather his blush, was definitely getting worse. “Thought you spend all those hours on the terrace reading.”
“Well, you thought wrong.” Aziraphale replied tartly. “I did read. Occasionally. But mostly I watched you.” He smiled. “It is one of my favorite hobbies, you know.”
The demon stopped worrying about his blush and began to worry about the very sappy smile spreading across his lips. “It is?”
“Of course it is. Why do you think I would want to ‘read’ on the terrace? Have you ever seen me take one single book outside?”
“Not as such,” Crowley admitted. Alright, it was definitely time to start worrying about that burning sensation in his cheeks again. Could be dangerous, blushing like that.
Aziraphale’s face softened. “Crowley, you couldn’t impress me more even if you tried.”
Crowley, not one to receive compliments gracefully, uttered a sound that consisted mostly of random letters thrown together. Fortunately, it was enough for Aziraphale to decide that it was time to change the subject.
“Now, if that’s settled, I could use your input. We need to plan for our shopping trip tomorrow. For New Year’s Eve.”
Crowley’s eyes lit up. Planning what to buy to please Aziraphale. He freaking adored that. “Sure, angel.”
“Right. I was thinking seafood. Lobsters. Followed by sushi. Homemade, of course. And we definitely need chocolates for later, plus cocoa, which reminds me that we need more brandy and . . .”
As the demon listened to the angel nattering on about all the delicacies needed to celebrate the new year, Crowley was suddenly overwhelmed by a sense of being at home. Safe. With his angel, the one he didn’t need to impress with a champagne tower. Because he had already impressed him. Time and time again.
Who could ask for anything more? Well, definitely not this man-shaped being. And judging from the way Aziraphale looked at Crowley, the two of them were definitely on the same page on this.
Fancy that. That it was so easy to impress an angel.
The end.