The log cabin in Ontario, Arthur thinks, is really something to admire. It's rustic in its appearance and the lower half of its facade is cast entirely in stone, all the way up to the wooden deck wrapping around the whole of its front. There's a large outdoor stone patio expanding several feet into the surrounding area and a sunken fire pit, complete with natural wood furnishings. In the backdrop of early evening, the landscape looks fresh and well-kept and the woods go on for miles. Distant mountains peak out from behind the pine needles of towering fir and douglas trees.
The lights illuminating the windows look warm and inviting, especially considering the high for the day was well below freezing, and perhaps Arthur would be in as much awe of the situation as, say, Ariadne, if he'd been fully willing to come along on this trip in the first place. He'd been content on spending this one holiday weeks in the warmth of his Los Angeles apartment, maybe he'd even have tracked down some work in a warmer climate. Though, he supposed they were in this situation because of work.
Recently, they'd pursued a relatively straightforward job for Saito - nothing even remotely close to the high-profile hazard that Inception had been - and they'd pulled it off wonderfully. There had been minimal complications and, overall, Saito had been very pleased. Not only had he offered them their usual amount of pay, which Arthur would have been just fine with, but then there had been this.
It had been early December, Christmas only three weeks away, and he'd awarded them a paid vacation - a week stay in a cabin he owned near the mountains. The job hadn't been difficult, sure, but they were worn out and weary. Ariadne had beamed at the idea, the idea of the five of them spending the holidays together.
It was a nice thought, sure, but staying in a desolate cabin with four others had not been Arthur's first plan when it came to the holidays. He valued his personal space and his privacy to a perfectly acceptable degree and he did his best to only maintain professional relationships with his colleagues. Simply put, his life outside of a job was his own. Unfortunately, even trying to convey this to Cobb, who he'd thought would have enough common sense to dismiss the idea, hadn't worked. The extractor had expressed that anything that would help them unite more as a team would be good for them and, come on, Arthur, you know we could all use a break.
Long story short, they were here now and there wasn't much to be done.
"Try to enjoy yourself," Cobb says to him as they drag their luggage through an inch or two of snow and make their way inside. The innards of the cabin are ever bit as charming as the outside, all wood floors and high ceilings, wood-paneled walls and dark, neutral furniture. "It's not so bad, it's nice here."
Arthur made a noncommittal sound that might have been a grunt and set off to locate his room.
The cottage had three rooms, each fairly sized with two single beds and a dainty, iron chandelier fastened from the ceiling. There's plenty of storage and Arthur sets out to carefully hang up the clothing he's packed with him when someone else steps in the room.
"Looks like we're roommates," The point man can practically hear the grin on Eames' face as he plops his suitcase down on the other single bed. At this moment in time, he can think of nothing that will make this vacation any worse for him. "I did wonder if you have any particular quirks when you sleep - do you snore, darling?"
"No," Arthur gently closes the closet door and pushes his suitcase and the rest of its contents under his bed. He isn't too keen on the idea of sharing a drawer with the other. "No, I don't."
"You sleep starkers, then?"
"Eames," Arthur flashes him a warning look, eyes narrowing in a dissuading manner as he shucks off his coat. He's not going to deal with what he has to when they're working together, the needlessly provocative comments, the innuendos, any of it. He knows that Eames can be serious when he needs to be and is trying to appeal to him sooner rather than later. "Let's not do this."
"That's a no," The forger hums, packing away his clothing in the now-empty bureau, "Just a heads-up, love, because I do."
The younger man bites his lip to refrain from commenting and giving the other the satisfaction of getting to him. Instead, he swings around, opening the closet door again and pretending to be absorbed in suspending his coat.
He knows very well that it's going to be a long week.
The next morning, Eames falls off the roof.
Arthur can understand a little when he receives several suspicious glances after they've carted a sluggish forger back from the in-town clinic, which is a number of miles away. He had been complaining just that morning, after all, about the sleeping arrangements, about how Eames could be quite the unbearable roommate.
Regardless of what had happened the night prior, he had very little to do with this incident. Eames had been on the roof attempting to clean out the chimney because they'd planned on lighting a fire that afternoon, to keep the cabin warm. Regrettably, he'd lost his footing at some point and plummeted straight to the earth.
Arthur had seen it occur and really, it hadn't looked too drastic. A large snow bank had caught most of his weight and he really only broke his right arm - a relatively clean break, they'd been told.
Still, the doctor says it'll be out of commission for a few weeks and Arthur would feel bad if Eames didn't constantly insist that, since he's injured, he'll be needing his help, specifically, when getting dressed from now on.
There are a few things that Arthur likes and some things that he doesn't by the time that they're four days into their vacation.
For example, he likes the town that's less than an hour away. It's quaint and has small, attractive shops and there's a lovely, twenty-four hour diner where the people are proud of what they do and the waitress already knows Arthur by name.
He likes their coffee, the taste and the smell of it, the way there's sometimes a dollop of cream and a sprinkle of cinnamon. It's delicious and more than worth bundling up and traipsing out in below freezing temperatures.
Usually he comes alone, but there is one time when Eames spots him fleeing and decides to tag along and he isn't too happy with this.
He isn't pleased with the way that Eames comes into his safe haven and automatically befriends the waitress, who smiles and laughs and is charmed enough by him to give him a complimentary lunch. Arthur dislikes that when he thinks that no one is watching and hums happily into his cup of coffee Eames gives him this look - a combination of poorly disguised mirth and a strange hint of fondness. It confuses him, mostly, and he hears the older man laugh when he averts his gaze.
He hates that when they leave, Eames' uninjured hand is on the small of his back, guiding him as he bids a cheery farewell to the diner's inhabitants.
And, above all else, he despises when Eames' cold uncovered fingers rest purposefully on the sensitive, bare skin at the back of his neck and the sound he makes as a result.
This time, it's no secret that the other deserves the punch to the stomach that he receives before Arthur walks off.
"We're going skating," Ariadne says to him one morning, when he's barely had his coffee and his thoughts are still muddled with sleep, "And yes, you have to come."
Arthur sighs into his drink, glancing around the kitchen to see if there's anyone as opposed as him, "We don't have any skates."
"Darling, wasn't there a wonderfully convenient shop in town that advertised renting ice skates?"
The point man glares at the same time Ariadne gives a delighted smile; Eames appears exceptionally pleased with himself.
"I suppose there's an ice rink right next door, then?" Arthur challenges and Yusuf isn't afraid to speak next.
"Ariadne and I found a lake not too far from here, just a short hike through the woods. It's completely frozen over."
"It's easier if you don't fight it, Arthur," Cobb says to him and he can't even begin to imagine why he tried.
It's a crisp, thirty-two degree day, but the sun is bright enough that he only really has to pull on his coat and a scarf when they go out. The lake truly isn't far and the skates fit eerily snug at ten dollars an hour.
Ariadne's the first one out on the ice and somehow it isn't at all surprising to see that she's not half-bad at skating. Yusuf is second and he's mediocre and Cobb wobbles his way out, third.
In the silence, Arthur inwardly reflects on the last time he's done something like this. He knows it's been awhile, several years, in fact, and he's sure that the last time he put on skates was when Mal had asked him to go. Cobb had been gone and she'd been bored and restless, eager to go out and do something, to not waste the day. It was not uncommon of her.
He recalls that she was pleasantly astounded at how good he was, remembers fondly her smile and her hand on his arm as they circled the ice.
Everyone reacts differently to the way that he casually skates onto the lake, in a fashion that is neither overdone nor cocky, but is in fact just pure grace. The incident with Mal aside, he hasn't done this since he was a kid, hasn't ever actually been on real ice.
When the wave of initial shock passes and Arthur slides to a halt at the lake's edge, the collective glances that rest on Eames are expectant.
"Ah, yes," He says, standing safely in the comfort of several inches of snow. "Balancing isn't quite my forte, you'll have to excuse me if I'm not so eager to break another arm."
In the end, after multiple attempts at verbal coaxing and even an instance of failed bribery, it took the combined efforts of Arthur, Ariadne and Yusuf to persuade the forger onto the ice. Eames looks ill at ease with his shaky legs and his absolute refusal to move from where he stands.
"This isn't going to end well," Out of all of them, Eames chose to cling to Arthur, who is less amused with the other's misery than he had been previously. "Darling, I'd feel much safer watching you do your triples axels and your pivots and your I-spins from the sidelines."
Trying to shake the man off has amounted to nothing and Arthur has long since given up on attempting to pass him off to someone else.
"We're not even moving, Eames," He replies, rolling his eyes just slightly and sighing out a heavy, frosted breath of air. "and if you don't stop clinging to me, we're both going to fall. Proportion the weight more evenly and I will resist the urge to pry you off."
"As comforting as I'm sure you're endeavoring to be, love, I think this works quite well all on its own."
It's cruelly ironic that not but ten minutes later, Eames' quivering, guarded movements - the way that his grip tightens at even the slightest instance of Arthur picking up speed - cause them to tumble over.
This time, Arthur does feel a hint of remorse. The other takes a particularly nasty fall on his broken arm, if the howl of pain he emits is any indication of that.
They call it quits after that and hike the short distance to their cabin. When they step inside, it's satisfyingly warm, thanks to the fireplace crackling in the center of the living room.
They have soup for dinner and Eames manages to convince him that he's right-handed and so can't possibly feed himself like this.
Arthur is ultimately saved from the humiliation of feeding the man, however, when Ariadne raises an eyebrow and helpfully adds that Eames shouldn't have a problem feeding himself if he's ambidextrous.
At the receiving end of an exceptionally loathsome glare, Eames knows better than to ask for anything more.
The last thing that Arthur expects when he pads downstairs that winter morning, in a dark wool sweater and a pair of slacks, is to walk straight into something of a winter wonderland.
There's garland strewn above the fireplace and a wreath on their door, lights are hung around the windows and above entryways and Christmas music is being played from an old radio at the far end of the kitchen. What catches his eye the most, though, is the magnificent, ten-foot Christmas fir sitting in a corner near the fireplace. Its branches are garnished in multicolored lights and nothing more for now.
"Morning," Ariadne's smiling face greets him as she slides a mug of freshly brewed coffee into his hands. He thinks to check how long he's been asleep, but his watch says that it's only noon. "Cobb and Yusuf are out grabbing a few things. Do you want to help in the kitchen?"
"Uh," Arthur manages at the sight of Eames, humming along with the radio and donning a ridiculously festive apron that is definitely not his size. Bobby Helms' Jingle Bell Rock is playing in the silence between them.
"Darling," The forger grins, pushing aside a tray of cookies - newly baked if the absolutely delectable aroma about them is anything to go by - and regarded him fully. Ariadne has suddenly disappeared from the kitchen and Arthur feels a bit out of place in the oddly domestic situation. "I have one question and one question only - are you apt at baking?"
By the time Yusuf and Cobb return, three batches of sugar cookies, frosting and all, are finished and Arthur has scolded Eames at least twice about lewdly licking the cookie batter off of his fingers. While the sweets cool, they relocate to the living room, where their enormous Christmas tree is in need of some holiday decor.
Arthur busies himself with untangling garland - he isn't much for decorating, although he did hang up a couple of silver and blue bulb ornaments if only to appease - on the living room couch. Ariadne has already claimed to be the one to put the star on the top and, as the tree is twice her height, Eames has volunteered his assistance.
That, of course, has to wait for last.
He's passing off the unraveled string of garland to Cobb when Eames abruptly plops down in his lap as if there isn't any doubt that he belongs there.
"What," Arthur narrows his eyes accusingly, there is really no reason that the other should be sitting there so casually, contemplating him so silently. In the hush, Carol of The Bells chimes quietly from across the room. "What, Eames-"
The forger smiles and answers him with a kiss.
It's brief, chaste, stimulating with the way that Eames gently touches his cheek and then his neck. Before Arthur can even begin to fully comprehend what has happened, the other is pulling away from the embrace, grinning.
"Eames," For a moment, the point man forgets that anyone else in the room even exists but them. His lips are parted and he feels as though he can't catch his breath, that he's as light as air and it's oddly sublime. "Eames, that..."
He's silenced when the other points upward.
"Just carrying on tradition, my dove," He winks and Arthur glances upward, his eyes widening in something just short of horror. Above the two of them, nearly invisible in the rafters of the ceiling, hangs a small sprig of mistletoe. "Didn't mean to startle you."
Arthur shoves the chuckling man off of him, frowning and more than embarrassed - humility colors his cheeks red.
He wants to just brush it off, wishes he knew what to say to do so because now everyone's looking at them.
"Time for the star," Ariadne interrupts, and Arthur remembers later that her expression is one of empathy. "Eames, come on, help."
The only difficulty in putting the star up proves to be lifting the architect on Eames' broad shoulders, which Yusuf and Cobb offer their assistance in. Arthur stays back this time, admiring the tree's finalized state in all of its dazzle and glory.
They have their Christmas Eve dinner together and while there's plenty of chatter and laughter around him, the point man is mostly reticent.
He turns in early that night.
It's almost midnight by the time everyone quiets down and Arthur can finally close his eyes and think about sleep. Perhaps there had been some aspects of this trip that he had enjoyed, but they were leaving later tomorrow and he was ready for that.
He's facing away when Eames' enters the room, closing the door behind him and whispering softly in the dark.
"Arthur, darling," There's a shuffling of feet, the sound of several footsteps and the point man can feel the other standing at his bedside. "Are you awake?"
Arthur's content with leaving that question unanswered, hoping that Eames would just accept the situation for what it was and head off to bed. Quite contrarily, however, the forger sits himself down on the bed, leans over the younger man's 'slumbering' form.
"No use pretending," He says and Arthur's eyes flutter open at the caress of lips on his cheek. "I wanted to apologize."
The point man sighs, rolling onto his back and gazing blankly up at the other.
"Okay," His fingers twitch nervously, so he only runs them through his hair. The moonlight illuminates Eames' features, but he isn't smiling - he's simply observing, deliberating. "Apology accepted, go to bed."
The forger stayed there, as if he knew those words were nothing but hot air. His response was only to bend over Arthur, to kiss him at the corner of his mouth and then slowly, tenderly on the lips.
"There's no mistletoe, Eames," Arthur breathes into his mouth, their lips brushing. "No tradition to uphold, nothing to hide behind."
"Who says that I'll be needing any of that?"
Outside, the snow begins to fall, drifting gently to the earth as all clocks this side of the world strike midnight - It is Christmas Day, December 25th, Yuletide.
That night, the frost, the cold and the snow don't reach him, are not a problem in a way that they would be to others.
Eames' bare chest and his arms and his careful touch are all he needs to keep warm.
There is no Santa when they wake up, no empty glasses of milk or half-eaten cookies and no presents stacked high beneath their festive fir. There is, however, a fresh blanket of snow on the ground and a restless desire in them all.
Incidentally, those such things are the perfect ingredients for an all-out snowball fight, waged after breakfast and only broken when their ride for the airport arrives. It ended in a truce, or that's what Arthur and Ariadne allow the opposing side to believe.
Parting, Shakespeare had once said, is such a sweet sorrow and on the plane ride home, Arthur thinks that this is only partially true.
Eames bumps his shoulder and nods out the plane window - miles below them are the gorgeous, frost covered slopes of a proud mountain range, tall and unyielding.
Their fingers touch, just slightly and Arthur smiles.
If there's one good thing about going home, it's that he's heading back with everything that he could ever need.