Note to Readers: I am posting this early because a couple of lovely people at LJ asked me to post earlier. So thank them for me posting this quicker than usual! I would also like to take a quick moment to let people know that Arthur will be arriving next week. So please keep your pants on for a tad bit longer, yeah? Arthur has his motives and Eames has his, so let's all stay calm while we wait…haha. And for those of you not following my LJ page, I want to make an announcement that there are multiple one-shot sequels for this story in the works, so be aware that Grumpy Pants does not quite end here!

"Oh, my, GOD!"

I give Ariadne a look. "That bad, huh?"

"What was he trying to do? Take your head off?" She flutters into my apartment, hands twitching.

I shut the door, rolling my eyes as I turn to follow her. "Well, actually, yes." I almost laugh when I hear her gasp. "What did you expect, Ariadne? I entered a house with a serial killer inside. He wasn't waiting to offer me a pint and a slice of pizza from his fridge, now was he?"

She purses her lips, but says nothing. I go back to the couch and pick up my ice pack from the coffee table. Ariadne makes herself at home in my kitchen like she's done a hundred times before. I can hear creaking as she digs through my cabinets for something edible. Good luck with that. As I watch her, for an instant I wonder, why she and I have never gotten together. It's not like I'm not attracted to women. A grin curls my lips as she starts humming to herself. Frankly, it doesn't take much thinking to figure out the answer to that particular question. It's because she's too young, too innocent. As much as I love her, there is no edge to her personality. She's sweet and inquisitive, mature, but not passionate (not in the way that I like anyways). She's a brilliant friend and companion, just not a lover, at least not for me.

Her eyes meet mine, and then she smiles back at me. She quickly casts her eyes back down and turns on the stovetop. Within minutes, I smell the fresh scent of bacon and pancakes. The smell alone causes me to snort. Americans and their 'breakfast for dinner'…it's perfect. She and I don't talk while she cooks and that's all right. The two of us have always had this type of relationship: we don't have to be speaking to enjoy one another's presence. Many people might find that peculiar and I am perfectly okay with that. I don't need anyone to understand our friendship. Sometimes I barely understand it myself.

I click on the television and flip through all the movie channels. If there is one thing I can't live without, it's immediate access to films. Sometimes I have to wonder if it's the only thing that keeps me sane. My job and the life that I live are not for everyone. Getting inside a killer's mind takes a toll on even the stoutest of hearts. But I love what I do. It's frightfully challenging and that makes all the difference. I click through another three pages before finally settling on 'The Hangover'. I could use a few laughs.

"Oh, no," Ariadne moans from beside the couch. "Not again."

I give her a winning smile. "It's either this or something equally horrendous like 'Anchorman'. Your choice."

She frowns at me, but sits down nevertheless. "Alright, fine. 'The Hangover' it is. If you make me watch freaking 'Anchorman' one more time I'll disconnect your T.V."

I chuckle as she hands over my plate. The two of us sit down and eat our breakfast dinner, watching the movie without a word to each other. Despite her misgivings about my fabulous movie selection, she still ends up laughing through the whole thing, spraying pancake crumbs across my floor. I could worry more about her abysmal eating habits, but that would be horrendously hypocritical of me. Her eating habits aren't nearly as bad as my cleaning ones. That makes us even in my eyes.

She stays well past 9:00 p.m. well, until her mobile rings anyways. Cobb has finally finished up with his work and wants her to come over. She glances at me in question and I wave her concern away. "It's fine," I whisper. She gives me one last worried look before nodding her head. Even after my reassurances, she's still awkwardly moving from foot to foot five minutes later. "Ariadne, if you don't go and get shagged right this second, I'm going to get in my car and drive you there myself. Do you really want me driving like this?"

My under-handed reverse psychology works like a charm, as it does every time I use it against her. She gives me a quick peck on my uninjured cheek and then dashes from my apartment. Heaving a mighty sigh, I go back into the other room to put our dishes away. She may have cooked the meal, but she isn't cleaning it up, that is for certain.

X

When I wake up, my face is feeling much better. I had (for once) been a good boy and listened to the doctor's orders. I honestly don't want my face to look like this for any longer than absolutely necessary. However, I now have to go out and buy some more icepacks. Ugh. This will be a pleasant trip. I can go scare little kids. How exciting.

I take a shower and get dressed. I eat a slice of leftover bacon (probably not the cleverest idea since it's been sitting out all night—but then, who cares?) and head out the door. Thankfully there's a pharmacy right down the road from my place. I turn towards that direction and scowl. The carolers are back outside the apartment building. One of them grins at me as I pass. "Only a little over a month before Christmas is here, sir! We'll be singing once or twice a week until the holiday. If you'd like to join us, just let us know."

I growl and give him a brittle smile. "I would rather eat my own shite thanks."

His frown warms me. My smile spreads and turns into something almost real and tangible. Call me perverse for enjoying his affronted look, but enjoy I do. I walk the rest of the way to the pharmacy, whistling to myself. The people at the pharmacy all give me a wide berth. Their eyes are continually drawn to my face as if they can't help themselves. Not that I can really blame them. My face looks like I got on the wrong side of a fight with a hammer. I snort at my own reference and go to the counter.

On the way home, I stop in at a small café and get myself a tea. It keeps my ungloved hands warm the whole way back. As I walk, I find myself thinking about how utterly stupid it was of me to not wear a damn pair of gloves when it's 13 degrees outside. I stop in my tracks when I see Cobb of all people standing outside the building. Shaking my head, I stride forward. "Cobb? What the hell are you doing here?"

He turns towards my voice with a smile. "Eames! Just the man I wanted to see."

I quirk my eyebrow at the comment. The two of us are friends, sure, but it's not like we go out together on the weekends. Our jobs are both so demanding that we rarely see one another. The fact that he's spending his precious free time here instead off with Ariadne is one of only many signs that he needs me for something. "Alright then, you can come on up."

He follows me into the building. "Ariadne wasn't kidding, you got it bad," he whistles.

"Well, you know, those jealous wankers just can't help themselves."

Cobb's laugh is warm and hearty. "Of course, everyone just wants to be as beautiful as you are, Eames."

I let him into my apartment and throw my coat over the back of my couch. "So," I start, "what do you want? This isn't a social visit I presume?"

I watch him over the rim of my cup as he runs his hand through his hair, a habit of his that has always irked me beyond belief. "Okay, you got me. I'm here on a mission."

Sighing, I toss myself haphazardly across the sofa. "Indeed?"

"Yes, well, you know how we do a Thanksgiving dinner every year?"

"Yes," I comment mildly, "and I can assume that you'll have another this year as well."

He nods thoughtfully. "Well, Thanksgiving is next week, but Ariadne and I are going out of state to have Thanksgiving at my parent's house. If you can spare the time, I want to have our get-together this weekend."

I make a disgruntled sound low in my throat at his implication. "Don't plan a whole extra meal just for me, Dom."

He gives me a little half smile. "You know, this isn't just about you. I want to propose to Ariadne at our dinner. All of our closest friends will be there."

He has stopped talking. Isn't there anything else you would like to say? Like, 'ha ha, got you, Eames!' When he doesn't say anything, I am forced to voice my question. "You're serious?"

"Completely," he says. "It would mean a lot to her for you and everyone else to be there."

"What about Mal and the kids?"

Cobb looks away. Oh, surely not! Dom Cobb can't really be embarrassed? "I've already talked to Mal about it. She thinks it's a good idea. We're sending the kids to be with her parents this weekend."

My eyebrows creep up into my hairline. "Mal is going to be there? While you propose to another woman?"

Dom scowls heartily at me. Scowl all you want, it still doesn't change the fact that you're being a complete ass-hat. "You may not believe this, but Mal does want me to be happy. You were several years behind me at university so you didn't get to see how we were. Just because we married right out of high school doesn't mean we were complete idiots. We truly did love one another and we still do. She and I want each other to be happy. Shocking as it seems, she and I are doing better now that we've separated than we have in years."

I tap my fingers on the coffee table (an annoying, nervous habit I had picked up after my mother had passed away). "As long as you're sure Mal's okay with this. If that's the case, then I will come. What time?"

Dom lets out a sigh of relief. Did he really think I wouldn't come? Ariadne's my best mate; I'm not going to leave her out on a limb because she's dating someone as stupid as Dom. Not that I'd ever tell her that of course. It's just one of those things that you think really strongly sometimes, but never say aloud. Dom Cobb had been a junior when I had entered uni. He and Mal had already been married for three years and Mal had just given birth to their first child, Phillipa. It had seemed obvious at the time that they were destined for disaster, but my opinions on the matter had gone unheeded. As I said—idiot.

"Saturday at 2:00. We'll start eating at 3:00."

I take another sip of my still scorching tea. Ahh, delicious. "I'll be there around two-ish then."

Cobb snorts. "Please try to get there on time, Eames. Ariadne is going to be upset if you don't show."

Don't use that card with me, Cobb. She is far better at making me feel guilty than you ever will be. "I give my solemn word that I will attempt to be on time. Other than that, I promise nothing."

He rolls his eyes at me before heading to the door. "Make sure that you do."

It isn't until after he shuts the door that I set my cup down and lay on the couch. Heh, dinner. This Saturday at Cobb's. With all their closest friends. All their closest…friends. FUCK! I shoot up and nearly twist my neck muscles in the process. Jesus Christ! No, no, NO! Damn it! I stand up and start to pace around the room. Arthur will be there. Arthur will be at the dinner. I won't be able to touch him, taste him, hold him. I let out an infuriated cry and storm into the kitchen. I look at the bottle on top of the fridge. I could…no. Absolutely not. I am not going to drink away my problems again. I can handle this. It's been a year. Remember Eames, default mode. Default emotions. You can do that. That is your specialty after all. Feigning emotions is one of the things that have made you so bloody good at your job. I stomp back over to the couch and click on the tellie. I will get over this. This dinner is just one more test. We can both get on with our lives. My hand is trembling when I put the remote down. If I keep telling myself it doesn't matter…maybe it won't. It doesn't matter that he doesn't love me. Our home together no longer exists. I have no home and no future with him. Accept it old chap. You just have to accept it.