Eames slowly smiled at the sound of Arthur's voice, then blinked as that sank in. Looking round and up, he could only stare at the other man for a few seconds before remembering that he should probably react a bit more. "Hello, darling," he tried to say, although it probably sounded nothing like that with his voice cracking like it was, and his words slurring like he'd been drinking whiskey for days on end.
Oh, God, did he have to move again? Right, fair enough. He risked bringing a hand out from inside the blanket and tried to push himself back onto his feet, but he couldn't even manage that much. Bloody fuck. If he'd had the energy, he'd have been beyond frustrated. He was Special Forces, he could survive interrogation and torture, he routinely died in horrific and awful ways in Dreamshare and he could damn well get to his feet. ...Or not. Clumsily wiping at his face, he groaned in annoyance, and then licked at his hacked lips. "Arthur, I can't..." he managed.