Eames sighs and leans forward, elbows on his knees and he takes a liberal swig of his drink this time. He's just so tired and it's not the kind he can just sleep off, he's worn out from constantly having to deal with some threat or other just because he made the mistake of wanting to live in his home.

"I don't know if you can, Arthur," he says quietly, and it's not dismissive this time. An admission instead, because honestly he has no fucking idea what he's doing anymore. Right now is rough, but it's not just now, is it? Maybe they get rid of Harris, then what? Some other fucking problem he has to deal with because nobody else gives a shit.