Arthur doesn't remember it happening. He remembers right before, remembers a sound like thunder and turning around to see Eames' face open and too expressive and terrified. He remembers after, sort of, with Eames swearing and pulling at his clothes and swearing some more.
It's like coming to from a blackout after drinking too much, like just enough alcohol finally left his system and suddenly he's in the middle of a situation he's been stuck in for a while.
"I better fucking be dreaming," he says, through chattering teeth, leaning back against Eames' chest, sitting in the shower, the water pounding down hard and lukewarm.
Eames laughs into Arthur's neck, his breath so hot it makes Arthur shiver. It's tainted with enough desperation that Arthur doesn't even need to reach for his totem. "You'll feel better soon." He wraps his arms tighter around Arthur, like he's doing anything more than bruising his ribs.
"Yes," Arthur agrees, fighting Eames' hold to reach forward and turn up the hot water with distressingly shaky fingers, "when I kill you, I will feel so much better."
"I'm not the one who decided to see what it was like to live as a polar bear, you annoying skinny fuck. How you even have enough mass to fall through the ice is a betrayal of psychics."
"Your face is a betrayal of psychics," Arthur mutters darkly, shivering violently as Eames pulls him back to wrap around him again. Arthur thinks longingly of fireplaces and hot chocolate and the sixteen pair of thick brightly-patterned socks Eames' had shoved in his suitcase to annoy him.
"I see your verbal sparring skills have suffered some serious damage." Eames runs fingers through Arthur's hair, checking for injury in a way that Arthur is almost completely certain is only pretending to be a joke. "I want you to know that my love is not unconditional. If you cannot keep me in the conversational stylings to which I've become accustomed, I will be forced to go elsewhere."
"Asshole," Arthur huffs, his laugh getting cut off by a shiver that knocks his shoulder into Eames' chin. And Eames just pulls him in tighter again, like there's anywhere else for him to go, and run his hands up and down Arthur's thighs to try and warm them. "While we're being honest, I think it's best that you know I'm only here because your oral fixation isn't the absolute worst thing about my life."
Eames bites his shoulder, and god, his mouth is like fire. Arthur wants to crawl inside and never come out. It's not exactly the newest or most shocking development in the world.
"I would promise to put that oral fixation to good use," Eames says, rough and thick and unbearably hot, right against Arthur's throat. He presses forward and bends them both practically in half only to inch the hot water up again. "But frankly, I don't want you to get the idea that falling through the fucking ice is a thing to be rewarded."
"I think nearly freezing to death might have been enough of a negative reinforcement."
Eames makes a doubtful noise in the back of his throat, and rearranges Arthur's arms to wrap around his own chest, freezing fingers tucked in against his frozen ribs. He rubs at Arthur's arms. "But positive reinforcement is so much stronger, I wouldn't dare to take the chance."
"I changed my mind, I hate everything about your mouth. It's the most useless part of you."
"Well, that's not going to work at all. Your lies are terribly unbecoming." Eames tsks, drums his fingers against Arthur's elbows and squeezes before moving his hands down to rub circles into Arthur's belly and hips with the flat of his palms. "Just because you've ruined our holiday, Arthur--"
"Need I remind you about our last vacation and the jellyfish?" Arthur shivers again, turns his head press his nose to Eames' cheek
"That was a bonding moment, not a near death experience." He pinches Arthur's hip, because he's an asshole. "Next time we're going to the fucking desert."
"Next time," Arthur says, in the most threatening tone he can manage while naked, soaking wet, and battling hypothermia, "we're going to fucking Hawaii like normal people. And if I'm really lucky, you'll drown."
"Oh, darling, you don't mean that all," Eames says, amused and fond and just a little less scared.
Arthur sighs and rolls his eyes, because he really, really doesn't.