tampered | Log | Closed

When; Backdated to Christmas Day
Rating; PG
Characters;

construire
Summary; Nothing says Christmas like visiting someone in the hospital
Log;

[ It wasn't hard finding his way once Arthur had been through the hospital once already. All he'd needed was a chest x-ray to make sure that his ribs were good to heal on their own and that his lungs weren't in danger. Afterwards he'd gotten some painkillers, which he was quite thankful for, and then sent on his way. Ariadne had her arm in a sling to prevent her from aggravating her shoulder. Eames, on the other hand, had needed to stay two nights considering the state of his arm and foot.

For once Arthur's hair wasn't slicked back with a generous amount of pomade. Considering the sudden change in the weather, he'd decided to give it a rest just for today. He was also wearing jeans and a t-shirt instead of the usual collared shirt and slacks. Having less layers on his torso helped a bit with the soreness, or so he told himself.

There was a stack of boxes in Arthur's arms, one of which was the Christmas present he'd managed to procure for Eames just a week ago. The rest belonged to either Eames or Ariadne, who wasn't in any shape to carry much of anything at the moment. He stopped abruptly in front of the door that the front desk had directed them and nodded to Ariadne. ]

This should be the one.

[ He shifted the pile of boxes in his arms so as to allow him to open the door with his free hand. ]

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You think he's awake?

[ Eames is, in fact, not awake - at least, not initially. He does jerk into some sort of waking state when the door opens, hand brushing away a trail of saliva from the corner of his mouth, and he lifts his head to squint at his visitors. ]

Damn it, I'm hallucinating again.

[ He presses his hands to his eyes, dropping his head back down on the pillow with an irritable grunt. This is Eames, with his arm patched up and a cast on his foot, not looking his usual Sunday best but at least he has his tan back. The window is thrown open to appreciate the summery weather (in the middle of Christmas, who knew), but the sunshine doesn't seem to do any favor for Eames' mood. ]

[ Arthur's not used to seeing Eames incapacitated like this. Sure, he's seen him get shot, maimed, and trampled amongst other things in dreams. Many times he was the one doing the shooting, even, but this is different. There is no waking up in a warehouse or hotel room completely whole again. Not while this place insists on keeping them here, dream or not. ]

Like they have you on anything that strong.

[ The comment is lacking the bite that Arthur would have usually put into it. He holds the door open for Ariadne to let her through before closing it behind her and advancing further into the room. His running shoes make a faint squeaking noise on the linoleum floor as he turns to set the boxes down on a side table. After securing the gifts, he turns back to Eames, who looks disconcertingly reduced lying on the hospital bed like this. ]

How do you feel? [ His voice is firm, but the hesitation is apparent in his expression. ]

Edited 2010-12-29 02:44 (UTC)

So we're your projections then? Can you even hallucinate in a dream?

Edited 2010-12-29 04:20 (UTC)

[ Nothing's more hateful than when no one picks up on his badly placed joke on Arthur's current attire. Bawwwww. But the only thing worse than not being picked up on is explaining a joke, so Eames only lifts his hands from his eyes to wave them, dismissive before reaching to the bed controls to bend up the head partition of the bed up. It's not that Eames can't sit up on his own, he just prefers to have something to lean back against naturally, and if one is going to have to spend time in a hospital, one is going to take all of its advantages. Like moving beds. And free food. And bad day time television. And nurses. ]

You might as well be my nightmares. Nevertheless, I'm well, though it seems you both can't fully enjoy the weather either.

[ Arthur shrugs. The unseasonal weather is the least of his concerns right now. Considering how this place works, it probably won't last long anyway. ]

Considering how this place usually works, I don't see it lasting more than a week.

[ Arthur gestures towards the door. ]

Did they say how long they're keeping you here?

Made it easy to get to you, but Arthur's right. The weather's only a tease.

[ Eames' eyebrows raise. ]

This place makes pessimists out of both of you.

They said I'm to be discharged by tomorrow. Happily, the foot wasn't too bad off as to require pins. [ He's still eying the boot with some measure of distaste, and gestures to the pair of crutches leaning against the wall closest to the bed. ] No walking on it. Really, I ought to wrangle the unicorn and force it to carry me around.

[ He clears his throat to interrupt himself and keep him from going into a rant, focusing on the boxes Arthur had set aside instead. ]

Should we get to it?

[ To be honest, the domestic life the three of them had settled into for the meantime felt rather strange. Even gift giving felt misplaced, but Eames had figured - as the holiday had approached - that it was far better to give into holiday cheer than keep them both at arms length. They may be in some sort of aftermath of a job gone wrong, but the professional barriers among them were beaten rather forcefully with a hammer around the time he woke up handcuffed to Arthur and walked in on Ariadne showering (though she hadn't been aware of it, being that Eames caught himself quickly and made a very quiet exit). ]

The unicorn's already been wrangled, actually. As of now it's back in the zoo where it originally escaped from. [ No matter how many times he says the word 'unicorn,' it doesn't sound any less ridiculous to his ears. ]

Do you need me to come pick you up tomorrow? [ There's a bit of uncertainty creeping into his expression as he says this. The idea of helping Eames home from the hospital is a strange one, to say the least. Yet another sign of just how domestic things have gotten between the three of them over the past three months. ]

[ At Eames' mention of the boxes, Arthur nods and then looks to Ariadne. ]

Shall I unbox yours first?

Edited 2010-12-29 05:40 (UTC)

You sure you want the City seeing you ride that unicorn, Eames?

Go ahead.

Why not? For all appearances, they're beasts of prey.

[ Eames shifts on the bed to take a better look at the box Arthur has now in curiousity. Holidays for Eames usually means the occasional postcard, or finding a secure landline to make a few phone calls. All and all, he likes to remain relatively unpretentious, but if the occasion calls for a forgery of a Cezanne, well. Who is he to be a Grinch about it? ]

Because you'd look ridiculous riding on one?

[ Arthur huffs out a short laugh at the thought as he reaches for the box at the top of the pile. It's rectangular and relatively light, which suggests clothes of some sort. He unwraps it methodically, undoing the wrapping where it's taped and removing the paper slowly. After the paper's been disposed of in the trash, he opens the lid with care. Lying within is a folded greenish grey sweater with a navy blue tie folded neatly into a square on top of it. There's a little card that simply says From: Ariadne wedged into the side of the box.

His expression breaks into a full smile, dimples and everything, before he turns to Ariadne. ]

Thanks. They're... nice.

[ And he really does mean it. The last truly decent Christmas memory Arthur has is of spending the holiday at the Cobbs' household doing little things like decorating the tree, helping Mal cook dinner, and keeping James and Philippa from staying up too late waiting for Santa Claus. Everything had been so simple back then, which made it seem like almost an eternity ago considering the present.

It isn't really Christmas considering the time he left his own world, yet celebrating it here hasn't turned out too terribly. It may all be meaningless in the end, but for now Arthur figures he'll let himself enjoy what he can.

He snaps out of his reverie and reaches for the next box, which he recognizes. He turns to Ariadne again with the box held out towards her. ]

This one's for you. I trust you'd prefer if I opened it?

Edited 2010-12-29 07:55 (UTC)

Thought I'd help mix up your color palette.

I'd do it myself, but Eames will start unwrapping his by the time I'm done.

Edited 2010-12-31 10:08 (UTC)

I imagine it would be rather majestic.

[ But Eames' lips quirk humorously before he turns his attention to Arthur's gifts. Nice taste, Ariadne. Something slightly different, but enough in Arthur's comfort zone. He adds a surprising amount of subtly into the repertoire he keeps on Ariadne in the back of his mind. ]

There's some truth to that. Go ahead.

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