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1. Mum
Andrés was never built for the cold.
That is something he figured out very early on when his mum (like every overprotective over-anxious single mother in existence) would wrap him in scratchy jumpers and coats and a thick scarf to keep him warm in the snow, and somehow he’d still end up shivering.
His body would ache, his fingers could barely move, his face would hurt, and inevitably, he’d end up with the cold or the flu, struggling to recover for a week (sometimes longer).
It’s horrible - absolutely the worst - but he’d never complain, not when he knew how much his mum adored the snow.
One look at her serene gaze, her rosy cheeks and bright eyes, the lack of worry and pure wonder - and Andrés would shut his mouth and keep his complaints to himself.
She looks so beautiful (like the angels in the paintings in church) when the snowflakes land delicately on her hair, and she laughs, so full of joy that it’s infectious, and Andrés starts giggling too, even through the awful, awful pain.
He never tells her, not even on her deathbed, that he can’t handle the cold. He keeps it quiet, hides the pain (he always hides the pain), and watches his mum dance in the white landscape.
2. Sergio
With Sergio’s ill health, Andrés worries his brother won’t appreciate winter like he and their mum do. That he would watch as the snow dances down from the heavens and glistens in the sky, and turn his nose at it all.
But he doesn’t.
He loves it.
During times when Sergio is out of the hospital, and it is snowing (so only a couple of times during their childhood), Andrés finds Sergio sitting on the windowsill, holding a warm drink, just watching the world outside. He seems to have inherited their mum’s gaze as he looks out in wonder as a snowflake settles on the glass, but he also has the instinct to reach out to it.
Unlike their mum, though, Sergio hesitates.
Perhaps he worries that the cold will make him ill again, so denies himself the chance of joy.
That, Andrés decides, is unacceptable.
So he forces his brother into a coat, scarf, hat and gloves (it doesn’t escape him that he does what their mum did to him), before dragging Sergio out into the snow.
His brother complains, something about Andrés being too rough, but all other complaints die on his tongue once he’s outside.
Andrés watches as his brother tentatively reaches his hand out, letting a snowflake land on it, and his eyes brighten as a smile spreads on his face.
It doesn’t take too long for Sergio to touch the snow, feeling how fluffy it is, step on it, hearing the distinct crunch, and hold it in his hands, noting how light it really is.
Sergio then turns to Andrés and asks him to join him out in the snow.
Though clearly shivering badly (despite the many layers Andrés made sure to put on when he found out the heating wasn’t working) and feeling the beginning of the stiffening of his fingers and the pain that follows, he joins Sergio out in the snow, because he can never deny his brother a thing.
The grin from his brother makes the pain worth it.
3. His second wife, Emily
His first wedding was during the height of summer, so it only makes sense that his second wedding be held during the height of winter.
Emily was the one to bring it up - something about seeing some photos in one of those bridal magazines she always reads, and how Andrés knows how much she just loves the snow (he doesn’t remember her ever saying it before) - and Andrés was not about to go and argue with his fiancée over the wedding.
That is, as long as he can arrange the wedding reception, because his trust in her eye for aesthetics and decorating skills has greatly diminished (refer back to the pictures in the bridal magazines).
So here he is, waiting by the altar, with his ever-wonderful yet ever-cynical brother by his side (they have no mother to speak of), trying not to make his pain known.
(he has done his best to keep himself warm, but it’s never enough)
Sergio must have noticed something - perhaps he’s a little worried about Andrés’ true feelings about Emily (something about it being ‘too soon’ after his divorce, but his brother knows nothing of love) - because he’s putting a hand on Andrés’ shoulder and giving him a concerned look.
He smiles back - wide and bright. Lies about having some wedding jitters but honest when he says that he knows Emily’s the one. This time, it’ll work, he knows it, because she’s his soulmate.
(his soulmate who insisted on a winter wedding simply based on a couple of photos because it ‘looked pretty’)
Sergio nods, and Andrés pulls his brother into a hug, enjoying the split moment of warmth whilst trying to ease his brother’s unnecessary worry, before sending him off into the pews.
When he finally sees Emily walking down the aisle, looking every bit the goddess she pretends to be, snow and ice swirling around her like she commands it, he knows he made the right choice.
4. Martín
Martín is his best friend - that’s what Andrés decides when he hears the man talk about Christmas.
Obviously, he didn’t come to this important, serious conclusion based solely on Martín’s opinion on a holiday - the fact that the Argentinian is an utterly insane, egomaniacal, beautiful genius, who not only is helping him create the most magnificent heist that will ever happen but also has agreed to move into the monastery with him to spend more time focused on their plan (it never made sense that they lived in separate apartments in the first place. All they do is spend time together), was the main reason why Andrés started thinking of him as his best friend - but to find a person, an adult no less, willing to be so joyful of a holiday often tainted by ugly decorations and empty feelings, is utterly rare.
And Andrés prefers a friend who hasn’t lost all sense of childishness.
(Perhaps the fact that Martín’s icy blue eyes gain a twinkle and- yes, it’s no wonder he likes Christmas when his eyes are like a winter wonderland)
It’s interesting, hearing the difference between the Spanish traditions Andrés is so used to, and the Argentine traditions Martín follows for the holidays. Familiar, yet distinctly different. Foreign. Exotic even.
And, of course, their Christmas is during the height of summer! How wonderful!
Andrés insists on travelling with Martín to Argentina, at least once (hopefully more), to have the ‘true authentic Argentinian celebrations’, but Martín laughs it off, insisting a man like him would die in the heat.
Instead, Martín suggests staying in Europe, admitting that he’s curious to see ‘how the colonists celebrate it’. Mainly he wants to see the snow during the Christmas period it’s so heavily associated with.
And who is he to deny his best friend the Christmas he desires?
So he cancelled all their plans (Jakov won’t mind, Santiago… Well, Andrés doesn’t care), packed up their bags with everything they could possibly need, and all but dragged Martín to the cottage in Galicia - a house Andrés bought many years ago, when he thought being secluded and surrounded by only nature was the true way to become an artist (it was not. He hates being away from a crowd for too long).
There they remain, in the cottage alone, only broken up by the few times Sergio comes by (because who was he to deny his brother some time together during his favourite season), and the days Andrés takes Martín to Vigo to see the oh-so-famous, and perhaps overrated, Christmas lights.
It’s... wonderful, their holiday together. Well, actually, it’s fucking freezing - the cottage has terrible heating, it’s been snowing non-stop for a week which is gorgeous but also an unexpected pain, and there’s only so much mulled wine and disgusting coffee he can drink at the markets to try and warm himself without seeming suspicious - but even then, the cold hardly matters when Martín’s eyes start twinkling, ranting something about the meats served at the market being horrible, with snowflakes decorating his eyelashes, and cheeks so rosy Andrés might tease him about wearing makeup.
And then he laughs, Martín actually laughs with joy, when they go skating. Perhaps it was more from Andrés falling over, completely undignified (and, it turns out, far more painful than he thought), rather than because of the weather, but he knows he’d never have seen Martín like this if it weren’t Christmas.
So even as his hands sting an hour after the fall, even when his fingers are locked, even when his body screams at each movement, he knows it’s all worth it, to hear Martín’s laugh again.
5. La Banda
He can’t say having a terminal illness is a good thing, exactly. He thought he would spend the last few years of his life with those he deemed important, committing a heist so grand that it would be immortalised (he would be immortalised), but instead, his wife has left him - for his son no less, Martín is no longer around - (complicated reasons that could be summed up as ‘Andrés having a sexuality crisis in his 40s, whilst actively dying from an illness leads to poor kissing decisions and abandonment’) - and their masterpiece is no more, and now, after months in jail, and months longer cooped up in Sergio’s apartment, he’s stuck in a house in Toledo, with a bunch of strangers he simply doesn’t have the energy to care about, and who simply won’t care when he inevitably dies in a few months.
On top of that, it’s goddamn snowing, and Sergio hasn’t paid the heating bills because either he’s too stingy on money or too paranoid about being tracked.
The lessons, lectures, classes, whatever you decide to call them, are finished for the day. Whether or not it’s because Sergio knew several of the thieves were too distracted by the snow to have a proper productive lesson, is up to debate, but as soon as he dismissed the group, Denver made a bolt for the front door (quickly followed by Tokyo, Rio and Nairobi, who all put on layers, and Moscow, with the coat Denver forgot).
So they all end up outside - including Andrés and Sergio, though they both stay at the table, watching the others play about in the snow. Glancing over at his brother, so he doesn’t have to look at the others being so childish, he realises Sergio is smiling, so softly, as he looks upon the scene.
Andrés wonders if Sergio thinks of their mum, about the few times they spent time with her in the snow - perhaps it’s only Andrés who thinks of her these days, since all Sergio thinks about is his father.
The cold gets to him more these days - if that’s even possible. It’s likely due to his illness, but also maybe because he has very little to distract him from the pain.
Where in the past he saw a perfect white landscape, that glistened under the sun - a canvas waiting for the touches of life, all he sees now is… nothing. Emptiness. Death mainly, if he’s permitted to be so dramatic, but he feels like he can be when sometimes it’s so cold he can’t move at all. The pain, not only from the disease but the weather, gets so great that all he wishes to do is cry (and when he realises he might cry, all he wishes is to scream in anger).
Sergio has been keeping a closer eye on him, eyes flittering to Andrés any time the others aren’t looking, making sure Andrés is not suffering too greatly. Being over-protective never was a good look on the younger brother. The furrowed brows and tightly drawn lips make him look far older than he is.
He wants to reassure his brother, fight off the wrinkles that surely will form on his face from worrying too much, but instead, Tokyo decides to walk up to them.
Walks up to Andrés specifically.
He looks at her curiously, as she looks at him with hatred and mischief, and smiles crookedly.
The next thing you know, he has snow shoved in his face, and some shoved inside his coat.
He’s frozen, literally and figuratively. He can’t think of what to say when the ice stabs at his skin, and melts into an inescapable mess. His coat, jumper, shirt, undershirt, were all soaked in coldness - his face slowly succumbing into stinging numbness. He wonders if he can breathe properly, he doesn’t think he can.
Nairobi guffaws in the background and others join in.
Andrés grits his teeth, mind more willing to jump to murder than it has been in the past.
Then he glances at his brother, who’s trying to hide his smile behind a look of indifference or disapproval, but he can’t hide the amusement in his eyes. The worry that had once been there, seems to have disappeared for the moment being.
So instead, through a sickly sweet smile, he tells Tokyo he’ll get her back. She looks forward to it.
(Perhaps he can poison a glass of wine - no, he can’t ruin a good wine like that)
But for now, he supposes it’s worth it, the pain and humiliation, to hide the bigger darker issues for a moment longer.
1 Martín
Despite everything - he survives the Mint.
Sergio all but drags him by the collar to foreign lands, to see doctors he never bothers to learn the names of, and Andrés is forced to try several new experimental drugs for his illness.
Against all odds, perhaps to give a boost to Sergio’s god complex, Andrés survives longer than doctors first predicted. He’s not sure if he simply has an extended life, or if it will no longer kill him (his hands still shake, though less. Same with the pain. He still wakes up in an unexpected panic about dying from the illness), but Andrés isn’t going to complain.
It certainly helps that Sergio decides they should live their new lives in Palawan, where there is no winter. No pain. Andrés can relax on the beach, painting the life around them, whilst Sergio develops a drinking problem at some local bar, and all is fine.
Even when Raquel comes crashing into his life (god, was she to become his sister-in-law? His brother took ‘fuck the police’ a little too seriously) with her forgetful mother and annoying talkative daughter - even when Rio gets himself stupidly captured and Tokyo comes rudely crashing back into Andrés’ life - even when he sees Martín again, a shell of his former self, having clearly not taken the time to mend his wounded heart (not that Andrés has either, but that’s beside the point), working alongside him to do the heist that means so much to the both of them, rebuilding some semblance of trust whilst ignoring the feelings that had never gone away but are certainly tainted - he survives.
Even when going inside the Royal Bank of Spain, he survives.
Face-to-face with Gandia again (who’s alive and well, unfortunately)? He survives. Granted, barely. Turns out the man remembers his face and knows how to hold a grudge, but still. He can’t hold a grudge for much longer when there’s a bullet in his head.
(if Andrés aimed at the eyes, after what the fucker did to Martín, then the others are kind enough not to mention anything)
In fact, by some even greater miracle, they all survive.
(Sergio’s god complex might get worryingly large after this, but that’s now Raquel’s problem to deal with, not Andrés’)
He clings tightly to Martín when he realises they’ve done it - they’ve stolen the gold, they survived, it all worked - and when Martín wraps his arms around Andrés (so safe and a source of warmth), he realises he doesn’t want to let go. Not again. Never again.
-
Andrés insists to Sergio that the heating must be on, no matter what. They are successful thieves damn it, they do not need to act like they're living paycheck to paycheck. Sergio grumbles something about tracking, and police, but is in far too good a mood to argue with his brother over it. He allows Andrés to have his way.
So Andrés gets himself a warm haven during the harsh winter. He gets to stay inside, enjoying reading his novels (shame he couldn’t bring his leather ones from the monastery but oh well), and having the time to get back into his art again (he’s currently painting Raquel, not because he thinks she deserves it, but because Sergio asked for her birthday. Sergio is getting too comfortable exploiting Andrés’ soft spot for him), whilst watching the others play in the snow outside, through frosted windows.
He doesn’t mind at all - in fact, he rather prefers it like this. He’s grateful to have time to himself and to be able to enjoy the aesthetics of winter without physically suffering for it.
But the others must have seen it as Andrés isolating himself - they seem to fear his ‘mental state’ - so Martín comes storming inside the house, rudely letting the winter air into Andrés’ warm haven.
Andrés briefly considers shouting at him, but the words die on his tongue. Martín’s face is a delightful shade of pink, his lips even pinker, and he’s in the white fur coat Andrés bought him all those years ago (a possessive part of him feels pleased), but none of that compares to the smile his soulmate gives him - so warm it could almost melt the snow outside.
Instead, Andrés pulls his silk robe tighter around him (as if it would keep him warmer).
“There you are, cariño.” Martín says. He uses the petname a lot - as if he’s making up for all the years he couldn’t.
“I haven’t moved since you went outside half an hour ago.” Andrés replies with a smile.
“Yeah, and you’re missing out on everything.” Martín walks towards him, and for a moment he thinks his partner is going to hug him in his snow-covered coat, but instead, the engineer walks on past, grabbing Andrés’ black fur coat, gloves and boots, and turns back to him. “Put them on.”
“Martín, mi amor, I can’t possibly go out there.” he fights off a shiver from the cold air, already feeling the pricking of pain, “My clothes are not suitable.”
“Then go change. I don’t mind waiting, “ a smirk grows on Martín’s face, “Or watching.”
He huffs out a chuckle, and grabs the items from Martín, retreating further into the warmth to change. Martín spends the time talking about the war raging on outside (officially started by Santiago, but secretly started by Martín), how poor Sergito has ended up in the middle of it all, distrusted by all sides, and ends up with a face full of snow, all whilst Andrés puts on his armour to fight off the weather.
He eventually goes outside and barely has a moment to soak in the sheer beauty of the landscape, before his body goes stiff, and he feels the all too familiar ache spread through his body. It’s not too bad, nothing Andrés hasn’t dealt with (though it has been a few years since he’s last truly been cold), so he ignores it all, and laughs at his brother’s sorry state - looking more like a sad soaked kitten, than the mastermind behind one of the greatest heists in Europe.
Andrés keeps himself out of the fight, claiming he doesn’t wish to dirty up his winter coat, which earns a scoff from Silene, and a dandy comment from Santiago - and watches from the porch with Martín. Perhaps he should try watercolours next, to paint the scene in front of him.
As he thinks of the next project, Martín’s hand is placed on top of his, stopping the shaking Andrés hadn’t noticed beforehand (he does note the warmth the touch provides, even if it’s mostly psychological), and he looks at his partner, whose brows are furrowed in concern.
“When did you last take your medicine?” Martín asks quietly, and Andrés can’t help but be confused by the concern for his Retroxil.
“An hour ago. Sergio saw me do it.” He replies, but it only seems to make the other more concerned.
A beat.
“Has it gotten worse?” There’s a slight shakiness in Martín’s voice, and Andrés suddenly realises - oh. Oh!
He chuckles, and squeezes Martín’s hand, even if his fingers scream out in agony, “No, mi alma. It’s not the illness.” The Argentinian doesn’t appreciate Andrés laughing, but he does seem to relax. He mulls over what to say - his usual instinct as always is to lie, but to his surprise, he wants nothing more than to be truthful for once.
“It’s from the cold.” He admits.
“You’re dressed up warmer than the men of the Scandinavian oil rig!”
“And yet warmth eludes me.” He huffs, “Shaking is a natural response to the cold, Martín. I’m surprised that was the thing that concerned you, and not the pain.”
“Pain? You’re in pain?!” Martín’s eyes grow wider, and Andrés can’t help but find it amusing, if a little overly dramatic, “Are you certain it isn’t…”
“I’m certain.” Andrés smiles slightly, “It’s a pain that has remained since childhood. I don’t think I can recall a time when the cold has not hurt.. There have been times when even a weak breeze in early autumn has made my skin tingle in pain.”
Martín stares at him and does not reply, long enough that Andrés’ smile starts to waver.
“You fucking - hijo de puta.” The Argentinian scoffs, “What the fuck Andrés? The cold fucking hurts you? And you’ve said nothing, all these years? Why?”
Andrés shrugs, “It wasn’t relevant.”
He watches as Martín’s cheeks grow redder, though from anger more than the cold. Perhaps it doesn’t help that Andrés finds himself adoring Martín when he’s angry - the anger so beautiful and blinding - so passionate and loud.
He wants, for a brief moment, to egg it on - but reason wins over for once.
“Wasn’t relev- What kind of bulls-” Martín takes a deep breath, “Your pain is relevant. I don’t want you to be in pain, I’ve never wanted you to be in pain,” Andrés takes a sharp breath in from the confession, “Why did you pretend all these years?”
His eyes drift over to Sergio, who’s hiding behind a log with Raquel, looking utterly soaked and likely freezing, yet the glimmer in his eyes, the wonder, the joy…
“My mother,” he says, just above a whisper, “She used to love the wintertime.”
He wasn’t sure how much Martín knew of his childhood - likely not a lot. Andrés doesn’t like to dwell on the past, not that past. Martín always seemed to understand, after all, he barely talks about his childhood either. Perhaps that’s why he never pushes Andrés to elaborate; he simply grips him tighter. (it’s both soothing and excruciating)
“Sergio shares her love.” He adds though it takes effort, “I do not deny the beauty of the season. It is alluring, and it is captivating. But it is the way it has captured the hearts of those around me that made me fall for its charm. If my mother, my brother - if you, love the season, insist on living in the outdoors, surrounded by a sea of white, commanding the wisps of frozen breaths,” he glances at his partner, “Then who am I to deny you?”
“Cariño,” Martín breathes out, “I’ve never given a damn about winter, or snow.”
Andrés furrows his brows, “All those winters we spent together…”
“Where you would drag us to your cottage, out in the countryside, all alone? Where we’d go to markets together and you’d take me to see the lights and use any excuse to buy me gifts for Christmas that I very clearly didn’t need-”
“Your coat was atrocious-”
“It was practical, Andrés.” Martín chuckles, “I tried not to get my hopes up, despite the mixed signals, and I wasn’t going to ruin things and complain... Sure, I was curious one time to see how you celebrate Christmas here, and I liked the idea of the cosy snowy Christmas morning shit, but honestly, I fucking hate the cold. I hate having to wear bulky clothes, and I can’t do anything outside without gloves, and cleaning the car windows is a pain in the ass-”
“So you too pretended?”
“I didn’t pretend that I wasn’t in constant bloody pain-”
“No, you did something worse. You pretended to love something that you didn’t.”
“So like you with your ex-wives.”
Andrés glares at him, and Martín just shrugs - trying to keep his expression neutral but cannot hide the glint of smugness for seemingly winning an argument by using such a low blow.
Good thing he decides Martín hasn’t won - Andrés just decides he doesn’t need to dignify it with a response.
He expected a confession, even of a small lie, would feel like a weight had been lifted, but nothing. Instead, perhaps he simply feels more secure, more comfortable - he has just allowed Martín to see a clearer, more mortal version of himself, and the Argentinian acted as he always does - with a burst of anger, then casual acceptance.
“Do you want to head inside?” Martín eventually asks.
Andrés opens his mouth to respond, but it quickly forces him to duck instead, as a stray snowball is hurled towards them. He doesn’t get hit, thank god, but the quick movement causes him to hiss in pain. His muscles burn, and Jesus Christ, he has not missed this feeling over recent years.
He hears Martín swear, cursing out Silene.
Ah, so that was the culprit. He should have known.
“Yeah, we’re heading inside away from that bitch.” Martín grumbles, carefully helping Andrés up once the pain has died back down to a dull background feeling.
(and maybe it’s childish, but he remembers a similar scenario all those years ago, and the revenge he never had the chance to enact)
“Tokyo,” Andrés calls out, and she looks at him with an unimpressed look, “Whilst your competitiveness is… admirable… perhaps you shouldn’t be conspiring against your teammates, hm?”
She looks confused, whilst Daniel and Ágata look at her with such betrayal. He watches with great amusement as their focus turns to her and they take aim - before he heads inside with Martín.
-
As he warms himself up by the fireplace with a throw over his lap (that clashes horribly with his aesthetic), and Martín leaning against him, he asks, “Will you now let me travel to Argentina with you for Christmas?”
Martín just chuckles, “Fine, yes. We’ll migrate like birds at the first sign of a chilly breeze. At least I can show you the proper way to celebrate - and we can have alone time, away from your damn brother.”