Archive of Our Own ^beta

~*~

Secret Santa was Eames' idea.

"It's very simple," he had explained in his usual half amused fashion, "we all put our names in a hat, then we take it in turns to pick out a person who we have to buy a gift for. We set a budget and then we all go shopping. I'll put a box in Cobb's office and we all sneak our gifts in there, then hand them out on Christmas Eve."
"And the point of that is?" Arthur had tapped his pen against his notebook, eyebrows raised and expression blank.
"Fun, Arthur, it's called fun. Do they have that on your planet?"

Cobb forestalled the inevitable bickering by clearing his throat. "I think that sounds like a good plan, myself. For team morale."
Arthur rolled his eyes. "And what if we draw our own name?"
"You put it back and try again." Eames said slowly, as if talking to an idiot. "Any thoughts, Ariadne?"
The architect looked up from her sketchbook, blinked a few times as if clearing her head, then smiled. "I'd like to do it."
"Superb, that's three votes in favour. Arthur, you've been outnumbered. Unless you don't want to play or think you can convince Yusuf and his cat to join the Grinch brigade, that is?" He widened his eyes innocently. Arthur sneaked a look at Ariadne, still smiling at Eames like he'd just invented sliced bread, and swore to himself. "Fine," he shrugged in surrender, "I'll do it."

"Come come now, Arthur, where's your Christmas spirit? Let your hair down a little, will you?"

Arthur's eloquent reply was a wadded up ball of paper lobbed at Eames' head.

---

A week later Eames materialised by Ariadne's drawing board, shaking a bowl she vaguely recognised as the one that normally held sugar in their kitchen area. She eyed it dubiously as he stuck it under her nose, hoping he'd rinsed it before turning it to whatever use he was now giving it.

"Sorry to interrupt, lovey, but it's Secret Santa time." He waggled the bowl again.
"Eames, it's only November."
"I know, but you need plenty of time to pick your gift don't you? All that dickering over the right colour paintwork for my new Porsche..." He smiled winningly as she reluctantly put down her pencil and swivelled her chair to face him. "Fine, OK, let me chose then."
She put out her hand and rummaged in the bowl, the dry rustle of paper under her fingers the only sound for a minute before she plucked out a neatly folded slip and held it in her palm, determined not to look until Eames was safely out of sight. Sadly, that wasn't to be. "You have to check you didn't get yourself." He prompted sweetly. With a small sigh, Ariadne uncreased the slip in her hand, hiding it from his view.

Scrawled across the paper in Eames' tidy hand was a name. The one person she had been simultaneously hoping to and dreading getting:
Arthur.

Ariadne closed her fist around it, trying to press down the nervousness brewing in her stomach. "I didn't get myself." She said clearly, raising one eyebrow at the all to cheerful Eames. "Anything else?"
"The budget is seven hundred dollars, or five hundred and eighty something euros if you prefer." Ariadne boggled briefly.
"How much?"
"OK, one, it's Christmas and two, I know that that's less than one percent of what you've earned in the last six months." She started to shake her head. "Don't be coy, Ariadne. The world and his wife knows you've got an investment portfolio that even Arthur would be pleased with. Property, shares, an oil well..."
"Don't exaggerate!" She snapped. "If I've got my earnings working for me then that's a good thing. Money gives you independence, freedom..."
"...nice things, good clothes, a happy life. Or doesn't it?" He peered at her consideringly. "By the way, what's happening in your life away from here?" His tone was soft and confidential, his eyes warm and free of their usual teasing light. She pressed her lips together firmly.
"Nothing...that is any of your business." She trailed off.

"Look, lovey." One hand covered her own carefully. "This can be a lonely life. But don't make it one intentionally, hmm? You have good friends here. I'm always up for a night on the town if you want some company or just to talk. And Cobb's a bit of a hard nut, but you seem to connect with him over architecture and all that stuff." He squeezed her fingers in his own as she looked up at him. "And you and Arthur get on alright, don't you?" She felt her face colour and her glance dart away from his. "Ah," he said quietly, squeezing then releasing her hand but saying nothing more in response. "Any way, the offer stands. If you fancy a night on the lash, then I am your man. I am also," his face was serious again, "the soul and epitome of discretion. If you just want to talk. OK?" She nodded mutely, unsure how to respond to his sudden kindness. "Superb. And if, by any weird and wonderful chance, you got my name, I have a wishlist on Amazon. Just for guidance, you understand." He beamed at her, offered a mock salute and sauntered off in Cobb's direction, leaving her in peace once more.

Ariadne unclenched her hand as soon as he was out of sight, smoothing the slightly damp piece of paper against her drawing board with her fingers. Arthur; of all the people in the group the one everyone seemed to know least about, the one who gave the least away and who, in spite of all that, she couldn't stop thinking of as more than a work mate.

She fought the urge to drop her head into her hands and groan in frustration. What the hell was she going to give him?

---

Arthur was deep in to the business accounts of their latest mark when Eames shoved something under his nose. "Arthur, old man, it's time." He said with bonhomie oozing from every syllable. Arthur focused on the object that had materialised in his face and frowned. Couldn't Eames see he was busy?  "Isn't that our sugar dish?"

"It's clean. Come on, Secret Santa waits for no man." He shook the bowl annoyingly. 
"Eames, Christmas is a month away." Arthur pushed it away and picked up his file again. Eames responded by plucking the paperwork out of his fingers and dropping it on the desk then returning the bowl to Arthur's eye line. "It is, but you need plenty of time to find my gift, don't you? Come on, don't be such a misery. Pick and be done with it. How long will it take you?"
"Fine." Arthur stuck his hand into the pile of slips, grabbed the first one he touched and slapped it on the table. "Done. Now, I have work to do and..."
"You have to check you didn't get yourself." Eames' smile seemed to be bulletproof today. Arthur sighed, unfurled the piece of paper and stared at the name in front of him. Fate was either patting on the back for being a good boy or laughing her evil head off: Ariadne.

"No, I didn't. Now, did you need something slightly less frivolous or can I finish what I was doing?" He reached for his folder, eyebrows raised and the tiny paper scrap bearing her name still pinched in his other hand.
"No, no, I'll leave you in peace with your..." he frowned at the spreadsheet, "stuff. The budget is seven hundred dollars, but you don't have to spend all that if you you don't want to. Other than that, go mad. Or, as mad as you let yourself." He shot Arthur one last, winning grin and wandered off humming something that sounded annoyingly like Jingle Bells.

Arthur waited until Eames was out of earshot before he dared unfold the paper again. Ariadne...he closed his eyes and let out a long breath. It seemed that every force in the universe was now conspiring to force his hand (surely they could have picked a better agent than Eames?) and reveal his real affection, his real attraction to the petite brunette who had stomped into the workshop, into his life and then into his heart (god Arthur, what are you, a teenager?) with barely a pause. It felt like he'd been holding it at bay for so long that to suddenly be offered a chance like this had opened the flood gates, everything he was denying himself out of fear, out of professional decorum, out of what ever name he chose to slap on the brick wall he had mentally put between them, was pouring down like rain in the desert and he didn't want it to stop.

Ariadne; what to give Ariadne. He drummed his fingers on the edge of his desk and a small smile started.

~*~

Ariadne wondered aimlessly through the Galeries Lafayette in a daze. All around her lights twinkled, decorations glittered, luxurious items spread on counters and shelves beckoned enticingly as assistants hovered over them like market vendors hawking their wares. Light poured in through the huge, glass domed roof and an enormous tree towered up towards it, hung with beautifully wrapped boxes and delicate glass ornaments while all around it the store whirled in a fantasy of ornate gold plaster work, glowing cream walls and brightly dressed people chattering excitedly over this petit chose or another.

She had come here for her mother's gift and her sisters in law's; but now, trying to find something for Arthur she meandered aimlessly from one counter to the next, rejecting luxury goods as carelessly as if she was a dissolute millionaire, a Gatsby flinging shirts across the room like waste paper. Cologne? Too risky, besides none of the scents she inhaled seemed to fit him. Cufflinks? She'd only seen him wear them a few times, a pair that looked antique and nothing like the shiny new ones the perfectly turned out assistant laid before her. A scarf? Too dull. A tie? Equally so. Arthur was a man who coordinated down to his socks (socks? Duller still) and it would be a risk to even attempt to find something that would fit in his wardrobe. A painting? She couldn't be sure of his taste, aside from an odd exchange with Cobb about Francis Bacon and her budget couldn't stretch that far. In her mind she wildly considered the diamanté studded kevlar vest Google had thrown up in a search carried out after a slightly tipsy evening with Eames, and briefly considered Arthur's face on seeing it then shook her head with a grimace.

---

To her own surprise she had found herself taking up Eames' offer of a night out less than a week after his initial invitation and, even more surprising, he had been a perfect gentleman the entire time. They had eaten supper in a tiny bistro where the patron had greeted Eames like his own flesh and blood with a double kiss and an enthusiastic hug, eaten three maddeningly delicious courses, then talked over glasses of warm Calvados and tiny cups of strong coffee as the night unwound gently around them.

"So, " he'd eventually cornered her after finishing an entertaining story about how he and Cobb had once spent a week hiding out in a treehouse until Arthur came to rescue them, popping up like Tarzan with a knife between his teeth (according to Eames), who hooted with laughter at the image, "you like Arthur, don't you?" His eyes were warm in the low light as he propped his head up in his hand. Ariadne hesitated, swirling the liquor in her glass. "You can tell me, sweetheart. I'm not going to drop you in it. I understand how hard it is, being in love with someone you can't get close to." Her head snapped up.

"Who said I was in love?"

"Oh, Ariadne," his smile was wistful, "people in love think no one knows but them, when in actual fact they're so obvious to the rest of the world they may as well be walking around with neon signs on their heads." He sipped his brandy and sighed. "I remember we once worked with a female extractor named Cressida; a lovely woman, sharp as a diamond. I spent the entire time we were with her working myself into a tizzy." He traced shapes idly onto the tablecloth with his finger tip. "I wanted to be with her desperately, but I told myself that there was no way she'd ever look at a dissolute bum like me." He laughed at Ariadne's disbelieving face as she sputtered "But you...you're charming! You have women hanging off you everywhere we go!"

"Ah, but this was different. I didn't want to score just another notch on my bedpost. It's different when you find the ones you want to hang on to, you know? I was pretty horrible to her at some points, trying to push her away, then I'd come running back with some joke or comment just so she'd smile at me again." He peered at her as she nodded quietly. "Then Arthur came along and told me in no uncertain terms to shit or get off the pot because I was acting like a lovesick moron." He smiled into his glass.
"Arthur did?" She said faintly.
"Yeah, I know. Arthur knew I was in love, what a turn up for the books, eh?"
"What happened?" Ariadne asked, tilting her head on one side.
"Oh, he pushed me, I told her, she told me and we were very happy while it lasted." He smiled back. "This isn't a sad story, Ariadne. It worked out. Our jobs didn't take us apart in the end, we just wound up wanting different things. But that's life." He regarded her earnestly as she fidgeted under his gaze.

"So what, you're returning the favour?" She tried to sound arch but he simply smiled again.
"No, what I'm trying to tell you is that sometimes we do the wrong thing for mistaken reasons. We think we're saving ourselves and others when in actual fact we're denying something we really should be experiencing. Arthur is.." Eames sighed at her wide eyed expression, "Arthur isn't great at admitting his weaknesses. He puts up a great front, but where you're concerned he folds like a house of cards. And trust me, he hates the fact that his badass point man facade won't hold up to you and your charms."
"He told you that?"
"No, sweetheart, I can see it. Have you never noticed that he absolutely refuses to let anyone put your lead in but him? Have you never noticed how close to you he stands, just in case he needs to put himself in between you and anything dangerous as well as for the pleasure of knowing you're right there? Have you never noticed how he watches you? How he smiles at you? Arthur never smiles like that at anyone, trust me, not even his old girlfriends ever had him in as much a whirl as you do. Not that I ever liked them any way..." He muttered into his glass as Ariadne felt her stomach clench; stupid, stupid, stupid, a man like Arthur was bound to have had any number of beautiful women in his life and his bed and how could she ever....

"Stop thinking that right now." Eames cut across her thoughts like a knife.
"What?" She said feebly, "Thinking what?"
"Arthur's old girlfriends. Ariadne, the fact you think you're being subtle when you're more transparent than a plate glass window is charming but more than a little tiring. I suppose you want to know, do you? What they were like?" She toyed with her coffee cup, refusing to look at him. "You do, don't you? It's natural to be curious." She looked up at his earnest face and nodded shyly, not daring to let herself speak. "In short sweetheart they, all four of them, were nothing like you. Not as clever, not as infuriating, not as stubborn and not as beautiful," she opened her mouth to protest, "Ariadne, you are beautiful," he shut her off, "even a one eyed man can see that. And more especially Arthur can. But that isn't all he sees in you, do you understand? This isn't just about him getting his end away." Ariadne blushed; damn alcohol.

"Even if I wanted it to be?"
"But you don't do you? Oh, you could bang Arthur tomorrow if you wanted, I'm sure." Eames sat back and refilled his glass. "You could take him to bed for a month and ruin him, rip the seat seam of every one of his neatly tailored pair of trousers while he let you, make it so he could never walk in a straight line again, all that stuff. But," he leant forward confidentially again, his blue eyes clear and honest as he looked into her, "it won't stop you being in love with him, will it? And I know it won't stop him feeling like he does for you."

---

Ariadne sighed to herself and pushed the memory away. She was no closer to finding a gift and despite Eames' reassuring words she still couldn't bring herself to so much as ask Arthur for coffee, let alone to take her home, make love to her until they were both weak and sweaty, then cook him breakfast in her tiny kitchen swathed in his shirt. 

She wandered out into the winter stark city, pretty with lights and glitter, and sauntered past boutiques offering rich treasures rejecting each one with a dismissive thought. Chocolate? Who could eat seven hundred dollars worth of chocolate? An umbrella? Ridiculous, she scoffed. Toiletries? No, Arthur was definitely not a 'soap on a rope' kind of man. Christmas music spilled into the streets from open doors and she found herself humming along to a particularly plaintive tune, a woman's voice soft with yearning as she sang over a lonely piano playing the melody of Jingle Bells in a minor key:

"...I'm going to make a lot of money, then I'm going to quit this crazy scene.
Oh, I wish I had a river I could skate away on; I wish I had a river so long I would teach my feet to fly!
Oh I wish I had a river I could skate away on."

She stopped by the store the song was coming from, staring in blindly at the display as the song meandered on:

"I made my baby cry:
He tried hard to help me, You know he put me at ease,he loved me so naughty it made me weak in the knees,
Oh, I wish I had a river I could skate away on.
I'm so hard to handle, I'm selfish and I'm sad, now I've gone and lost the best baby that I ever had,
Oh, I wish I had a river I could skate away on," 

Ariadne put her hand on the glass, blinking at the tears she suddenly found in her eyes. It wasn't right, she thought. It couldn't be right. She shouldn't feel like this about someone she'd kissed once, someone who was a riddle wrapped in an enigma to her but whom she pined for anyway. Eames couldn't be right, could he? She couldn't actually be in love with Arthur despite all her best efforts to keep it underneath the professional architect she knew herself to be? Was she actually holding back out of some misplaced sense of team loyalty when in reality they could be...

The store window shimmered into focus as she stood there, her thoughts whirling as her eyes fastened onto the items ranged behind the glass. Pens, sleek and sharp, lay neatly in rows. Their barrels shone in the lights like polished jet and the nibs looked sharp enough to act as darts. Gothic script curled neatly over gold and pale metal, the archaic shape graceful and clean. A pen...

She stepped back: Montblanc, the store's sign advised her in discreet lettering. Ariadne smiled to herself suddenly, rubbing her face to rid it of the traces of wetness she felt on her cheeks, blessing the sad song, Christmas and even Eames. Perfect, she decided, and pushed open the door.

~*~ 

Christmas Eve dawned grey and cold, with frost glinting on the bare branches of the trees and exposed stone of the bridges as Ariadne wended her way to the workshop. As a concession to the season she'd donned a red and green patterned scarf and pinned a sprig of holly to her jacket, feeling that if she couldn't be whimsical at this time of year she needed to get her head examined. 

For the thousandth time she hoped her gift, now safely wrapped in crisp silver paper and an extravagant bow, tucked in the box in Cobb's office where she'd put it a few days ago, wasn't too impersonal, extravagant or just down right unsuitable for Arthur's taste. The assistant in the store had looked her up and down as she pointed to one she wanted, taking in her casual dress and windswept hair, then calmly held it out to her and enquired in the politest French if  "Miss would like it engraved?" Ariadne had hesitated, feeling the finely balanced weight in her grasp, stroking the sharp nib with the ball of her thumb, examining its discreet chevron of gold and the neat rings of platinum wrapped around the cap. "Oui," she had said crisply, tilting her chin up and staring down the impassive young man.

The message she chosen was the simplest she could think of, rendered in the smallest Gothic script down the clip: "For Arthur, with love."  She had hesitated over 'with love', nearly scrawled it out in fact, but the assistant had whisked the form from her hand with an understanding smile, promised her her gift would be wrapped and taken her card all in one smooth, seamless action that left her standing outside the store five minutes later wondering if she'd really just done what she thought she had.

---

The day dawdled slowly to a close, passing in the kind of half hearted work she suspected half the world was engaged in at this time on Christmas Eve. Eames had put up a small artificial tree strung with tinsel and lights, under which five parcels now sat awaiting their recipients. Yusuf had whipped up some spiked egg nog; "It's not really my tradition," he had admitted, sipping the pale concoction with an appreciative sigh, "none of this is, but if you can't have a party at this time of year, when can you?" He tapped his mug against hers and smiled. "Bottoms up, as Eames might say."

And Eames himself had commandeered her ipod dock, whipping off Joni Mitchell ("None of this today, lovey!") which Ariadne had had on repeat since she found out what the plaintive song she'd heard that day was, and replacing it with some grinding, organ heavy British rock where the singer enquired in a northern accent if she was hanging up her stocking on the wall or hoping that the snow would start to fall, before rounding off by yelling "It's Chrisssstmasss!" To Eames enthusiastic accompaniment and Arthur's half annoyed, half amused expression, before the Englishman returned to foisting his mother's home made mince pies on anyone not eating. 

Finally, after a healthy mug of egg nog and a little more glam rock ("Oh, the snow man brings the snow!" Eames had yodelled along cheerfully as Cobb finally gave in and cracked a smile) the forger donned a Santa hat which he produced with a flourish from the recesses of his desk. "And now, the moment we've all been waiting for: Secret Santa! Gather round, one and all." He rubbed his hands together cheerfully as everyone took perches on seats or desks near the tree, mugs in hand and slightly nervous expressions on faces.

"Excellent! Here we go then, ladies first." Eames carefully put a soft rectangular parcel in Ariadne's lap. "Does Santa get a kiss?" He asked playfully, waggling his eyebrows until she rolled her eyes and carefully dropped a peck on his cheek. "Superb, perks of the job. Who's next? Ah, Yusuf! You can kiss me too, if you like..." She noticed Arthur was watching her carefully as she held her gift, but when she caught his eye he coloured and looked away again suddenly as Eames approached, the small silver box in hand, trilling "Arthur!" Making her look down in turn, suddenly unable to bear watching him open her present.

Ariadne regarded the beautifully wrapped package on her knees, smoothing the shiny golden paper under her hands. It had felt soft, but a gentle push revealed it had a hard centre under the layers. Well, no use in hesitating, she decided, listening to the sounds of frantic unwrapping and exclamations coming from around her, and carefully unpeeled the tape, pulling back the paper to reveal the contents.

At first she thought she'd uncovered another layer of wrapping, it's vivid hues and complex lines holding some other delight, but as she unfolded it it became a delicate, finely woven piece of cloth unfurling in her hands. "Oh," she breathed, taking the tissue wrapped object it was encasing out gently so that she could see the entire design, holding it out in front of her. The complex form of the labyrinth opened before her on a background of deep green and blue, while around the edge gold and red flowers blossomed and an inscription curled around the circular maze. "I can't read Greek," she said, loud and stupid in her own ears as everyone swung towards her.

Yusuf whistled, "Wow, is that handmade?" Arthur was quiet, looking at her face, still holding the small silver box. Cobb shook his head with a wry smile and Eames simply said calmly: "May I?" She turned the scarf and laid it in her lap, watching his lips move and his smile go from entertained to wistful.

"It's Latin, not Greek." He pointed out gently, "It says: "I have never put my trust in any but you, Mistress of the Labyrinth. Who shows both beauty and destruction, both rage and love, and who has eased the burden of this lonely man. Beloved Lady, maker of heavens and earths, be mindful of my humbleness and my heart." Silence fell as he finished, all eyes on her as she blinked.

"It really says that?" She managed eventually as Eames nodded and patted her shoulder.
"It does. It's a lovely gift from someone who cares an awful lot." He flicked his eyes over to Arthur, who was staring at Ariadne as she caressed the fabric with a dazed expression on her face. "You got something else, didn't you?" Eames nudged her as she looked up. 

"Oh, yes." Ariadne said distractedly, groping for the tissue encased rectangle next to her. She gently ripped back the paper and creased it into a ball as she stared down at the deep blue book on her knees. "This was my favourite book when I was growing up. I haven't read it in years" She stroked the hard cover with the familiar young boy on the front, her voice soft again. She flicked back the front page and ran one hand over the publisher's mark: Le Petit Prince, Reyland et Hitchcock, 1943 . "Oh my...this is the first edition." Her voice caught in her throat. Who could possibly have known...? Underneath, in firm black script someone had written For Ariadne, Merry Christmas. "I don't believe..." She flicked through the pages, the line drawings and familiar French jumping out at her until her thumb caught a loose sheet tucked neatly into the pages.

Ariadne folded the book open carefully, pulling out the thick paper and the words underneath were clear as day as she read them quietly to herself: Les hommes ont oublié cette vérité, dit le renard. Mais tu ne dois pas l’oublier. Tu deviens responsable pour toujours de ce que tu as apprivoisé.... She unfolded the sheet with careful fingers, mindful of the choice of it's placement as her breath faltered in her throat.

It was a drawing, a fine black and white pencil sketch of herself, leaning on her work table watching something just beyond the page. Each detail was carefully rendered, from the wave of her hair to the turn of her lips, her expression gentle and half smiling as she regarded the viewer. Ariadne gazed at it, speechless as everything faded out of her consciousness but this, this rare and beautiful thing in her hands. Was this what she really looked like? Was she really this creature made of light and shadows, curves and lines that someone had committed to that page? "It's lovely," she said wonderingly to no one in particular, looking up to find Arthur's eyes on her, his expression melting from anxious to relieved, happy even, as he watched her.

"Come on, Arthur!" Yusuf called gaily from the corner where he was examining his new iPad (Eames was cheerfully explaining how he'd got a discount by chatting up the girl in the Apple store) "You haven't opened yours yet!" Arthur broke his gaze from hers as if he'd just recalled he was still holding the small parcel in his hand. Ariadne swallowed hard as he broke the seal and lifted off the lid of the box. Please like it, please like it, please like it, she found herself chanting over and over as he set it on his knee and took the pen gently from it's case.

Eames whistled this time.  "Who loves you, baby?" as Arthur held it up, the sleek lines glinting in the light, then ran a careful fingertip over the engraved clip.
"Nice," Yusuf added, toasting him with his mug, "suits you down to the ground." 
Cobb leant over his old friend and examined the gift, his eyes taking it in carefully. "Well, anything that makes you give up those disposable things is a good start." He watched Arthur turn it in his fingers almost reverently. "A thing of beauty is a joy forever, right?"
"Right," Arthur echoed faintly, "this is just...I don't know what to say." He gazed at it a while longer then tucked it neatly back into the case with a tender touch and patted the box. Ariadne watched him, the joy, happiness and relief creeping over her like a slow tide.

"One last thing for you, sweetheart." Eames voice came from by her ear, making her jump. "Here. Use wisely." He pressed something twig like into her palm and when she looked down she saw green leaves, white berries; mistletoe. She peeked back over at Arthur, still looking at his gift with the faintest smile as he held it.

---

Eventually the gift giving wound down and they started to pack up for the short holiday. Ariadne put her gifts carefully into her backpack, wrapping the book and picture in the scarf she'd worn into work and holding her new one cautiously in her hand. She could see Arthur out of the corner of her eye, clearing and tidying his desk. The pen sat where he could see it and every so often he'd pause and run his fingers over the box, as if it he was checking it was real. 

One by one the others left, good wishes tumbling from their lips. Eames lingered, dropping a kiss on her forehead. "Have a happy Christmas, Ariadne." He smiled at her. "In fact, make sure you do." He gestured pointedly to the mistletoe lying on her desk. 
"Thank you." She pressed another kiss into his cheek and let him go, his cheerful voice calling out to Arthur as he went, the door creaking shut at his heels, leaving silence in his wake. And then they were alone.

Ariadne fumbled with her bag, desperately half wishing Eames would come back. She grabbed at the mistletoe, keeping her back to Arthur as she mentally rehearsed her next move. It's easy, come on, she slapped herself, just go over there and...

"Ariadne." Arthur's voice made her jump out of her skin as she whirled around, mistletoe first, to find him standing right behind her. "Umm..." She started, and kicked herself as he looked at the plant held out in front of her.
"I just wanted to say..." he trailed off, his dark eyes on hers as she looked up at him,"...I'm glad you liked your presents." He managed in a rush.

"They were from you?" She heard her voice make an unattractive squeak. Of course they were, she thought in a flash. Who else would know Latin, where to source a bespoke handwoven scarf and a first edition of her favourite childhood story? It's practically his job description.
"Yes," he admitted eventually. Arthur, embarrassed? "In fact, I drew the picture." He looked at her, his face nervous again. "I'm not particularly gifted as an artist but I thought..." He saw her like that? She felt her insides flip suddenly and the words boil out of her, smothering his before she could shut them off:

"Arthur, will you give me a kiss?" Ariadne held up the mistletoe so it was over her head, hoping she looked more confident than she felt.

She saw him hesitate and for one heart stopping moment she thought he was going to refuse. But instead he stepped a little closer, took her chin in one ever so slightly shaking hand and tilted her head up towards him. He was so close she could smell his usual scent of pomade, aftershave and coffee mixed in with a hint of egg nog and expensive cloth. His body was warm against hers and she could feel his breath as he leant down, agonisingly slowly, and touched his mouth to hers.

It was nothing like the kiss in Fischer's dream. Nothing like it at all, she sighed gratefully as his lips found hers, moulding to their curve with a pleased little noise in the back of his throat. His hands wound into her hair as she flung the mistletoe away, taking hold of his shoulders and pushing herself against him as he pulled her closer. It was a tender kiss that spiralled on and on, lips opening into a deeper, hungrier embrace as Ariadne felt her body prickle and her senses greedily sucking him in to her, his hands meandering down her back and settling on her waist firmly, possessively even, as he hummed softly deep in his chest. 

When he finally let her mouth go he leant down so they were forehead to forehead, eyes closed as they breathed in time.

"What are you doing for Christmas?" She whispered, stroking the back of his head gently.
"Nothing." He replied softly, putting another small kiss on her mouth.
"Come and spend it with me." She kissed him back twice, unable to stop the sudden craving for his touch. "Please? My landlady's son owns a restaurant and they're having a huge le révillion tonight after the service at their church. It's always wonderful, the food is great and the service is beautiful and then..." She hesitated.
"And then?" He breathed quietly, his fingers tracing patterns onto her spine.
"...you can come and stay with me." She finished slowly, shyly, opening her eyes to look at him, dark and earnest as he regarded her. "If you'd like."

She saw his smile, the dimpled genuine expression she had come to like so much, as he leant back down to claim her mouth. "Is that a yes?" She stopped him with her hand. Arthur's smile deepened as he took her wrist and moved the obstruction away gently. "That's a definitely, please, if you'll have me." He waited until she nodded. "Thank you." He finished quietly, stroking her face with his fingertips before he blessed her with another kiss. 

"One last thing." He murmured against her mouth, and suddenly she felt the soft trail of fabric across her throat. "There," he leant back and admired her, "perfect." Ariadne reached up, and felt the material of her new scarf draped over her chest. "And thank you for my gift. I love it." He added, taking her face in his hands. 

"How did you know...?"
"I hoped." He smiled. " It said 'with love'. After all, if Eames, Yusuf or Cobb put that on a gift to me I'd be extremely disturbed." His expression was so pained Ariadne laughed out loud.
"Don't worry, it was from me."
"Good," he leant down and kissed her again, then again and a third time before he said, his voice low and rough in her ears:

"Merry Christmas, Ariadne." 

~*~