Robert "Paris" Fischer's life is hard.
He's the only son of King Maurice of Troy, for one thing, which is definitely a thankless task. His sister Cassandra has been predicting he'll be the downfall of the family for years, which has been very pleasant to grow up with, and last he heard his father was planning on hiring another kid to prevent that. Hiring! The nerve. And that's not to mention the fact that he's heard all the rumors--the ones about him being a useless pretty boy, nothing more than a pretty face.
Not that he isn't a pretty face. A very pretty face. But still.
He's sitting on a hill, brooding on his wrongs, when the sky opens. Three beautiful women tumble out of it, bickering viciously and tossing what appears to be a golden apple between them.
The apple says "For the fairest."
Robert Fischer says "Well, today is looking up."
Arthur has pancakes for breakfast.
Well, what? Not everything can be swords and shields and acts of selfless bravery, even for the valedictorian of the Great if Tragically Flawed School of Heros, class of 1189 B.C. Just because Arthur's been bestowed the name "Achilles" and set down as a legend already doesn't mean he doesn't have to eat, and pancakes are his favorite. Especially this kind, with the little blueberries set into them in a smiley face…
…ahem. We digress from our tale.
So Arthur is halfway through his pancakes and really enjoying them when his mother calls "Arthur, some king is at the door for you!"
"Which king?" Arthur calls back. "If it's that Holy Roman Emperor guy you can tell him to fuck off, he's like four thousand years too early for the Crusades and I'm not converting."
"No, it's--" there's a pause and some whispering, which Arthur assumes is a name check, "King Cobbaleus?"
"Cobb?" Arthur says, jumping up at once. He all but runs to the door, and there he is, looking haggard and pissed off and as crazy as ever. He pulls Arthur into a quick hug.
"God, it's good to see you," Cobb says. "Last time was, what, three years ago?"
"At that toga party in Sparta," Arthur agrees, smiling fondly at the memory. "I've never seen anyone drink that much ambrosia, you're a fucking machine. How's Mal? How're the kids?
"That's why I'm here, actually," Cobb says. "I know you're on vacation and everything, but Mal's been kidnapped."
"What," says Arthur, "again?"
"Fucking Aphrodite," Cobb growls. "Promised her to some Trojan prince in exchange for an apple. I think she was high."
"Gods," Arthur says, shaking his head. "Can't trust them as far as you can throw them. But I have to say, man, that's kind of what you get for marrying the most beautiful woman in the world."
"It's not supposed to be Mal anymore!" Cobb cries, throwing up his hands. "Some bitch named Helen ousted her like two months ago, but apparently she's got hydra pox or something this week."
"Bad luck," Arthur sighs, leaning against the door.
"Yeah, no kidding," Cobb says, rolling his eyes. "So, I mean, it's war and everything, of course. Will you come?"
"Who all is in?" Arthur asks, curious. "Is Odysseus coming?"
Cobb peers at him. "Didn't you hear?"
"Didn't I hear what?"
"You can't call him that any more," Cobb whispers, glancing around. "He gets very depressed. He's been going by 'Yusuf' since Penelope threw him over last month."
"Penelope?" Arthur asks, blinking. "But she always seemed so faithful. Who the hell would she have--"
"Zeus," Cobb says darkly. Arthur shakes his head.
"That guy really gets around," he mutters. "Well, then. Is, uh, Yusuf coming?"
"Yeah, he's on his way already," Cobb says. "And King Saitomemnon is bankrolling the whole thing. Real class act, that guy."
"I have missed Saito," Arthur admits. "His victory parties are always the best."
"So you'll do it?" Cobb asks, his face lighting up.
"Yeah," Arthur sighs. "Come on in, I'll go get my armor."
Of course, it ends up taking them forever to get out of the house.
"You're running off with this schmuck?" Arthur mother demands, gesturing at Cobb. "Arthur, honey, I know you're young, but you can do better."
"This is war, not romance," Arthur says for the fifteenth time, looking longingly back at his pancakes as he shoulders his broadsword.
"That's what they all say," she replies. "Why, with your father it was all 'oh, I respect you as a nymph, I'm too busy with my kingship anyway,' and then all of a sudden he was pillaging for my spoils--"
"Mom," Arthur groans, flushing. "Circe's tits, shut up."
"Don't talk to your mother like that," Cobb says loftily, winking. "Thetis is a lovely woman, deserving of respect."
Arthur's mother pauses and looks Cobb over again.
"I guess you're alright," she decides. "You'd better have my son back for Passover, though."
"Of course," Cobb agrees graciously, even though they all know it'll probably be years before anyone returns.
"And keep that heel of yours covered," she continues, speaking to Arthur now. "If you get hurt it'll break my heart."
"Thank you for the guilt trip," Arthur sighs, kissing her on the cheek. "Can I go now?"
"Well," she hazards, "this is one other small thing. I, ah, I kind of promised your Aunt Erato--"
"Oh my god," Arthur says. "No, no, absolutely not. I am not taking Pat."
"He's your cousin!" Thetis returns, glaring.
"Do you know what cousin means out there?" Arthur moans. "I mean, seriously, people will think we're together, my street cred--"
"Arthur," Thetis starts, in a warning tone. Arthur sighs.
"Fine," he spits. "Fine, I will take him, but I am not babysitting him when we get to the battlefield. He gets his own goddamn tent and he is not allowed to speak to me and if I even catch him thinking about polishing my armor I am sending him home."
"Thanks, Arthur!" Patroclus cries, rounding the corner with a backpack over his shoulder. He pushes his glasses up on his face and grins. Arthur despairs of his life. "I won't let you down!"
"You are walking fifteen paces behind me," Arthur warns. "And no speaking."
The kid nods mutely. Cobb looks like he's trying hard not to laugh, and Thetis glides away, tossing advice like "Wear sunscreen," and "don't forget your allergy medication, honey," over her shoulder.
They set off.
Ody--Yusuf is as odd as Cobb had said he'd be. He's gotten absorbed in the art of blowing things up, which he demonstrates with great aplomb when they get to their base-camp, a sea of tents just outside the walls of Troy. Arthur sends Pat off to make camp for himself and wanders over to the head tent, trying to avoid the aftershocks of Yusuf's latest explosion.
Saito's inside, lounging in a plush armchair that has absolutely no business on a battlefield. He's talking to a short brunette girl--she's wearing a scarf and glowing very slightly, but she doesn't look like any of the gods Arthur's met.
"Hey," he says, "who're you?"
"Hello to you too, Arthur," Saito says, rolling his eyes. "Or do you prefer Achilles now?"
"Arthur's fine," Arthur says, "that name's only for show anyway. Seriously, though, who's this?"
"I'm Athena!" the girl says brightly. Arthur stares at her.
"No you're not," he says. "I've met Athena. She's taller than you, and meaner, and she'd never be caught dead in the scarf, no offense."
"None taken," the girl says, shrugging. "I shouldn't have introduced myself that way. I'm Ariadne, actually, but Athena asked me to stand in for her. Lent me some of her powers and stuff. Apparently she's going to some spa? I don't know, I think she's bitter Aphrodite beat her in another beauty contest."
"Ariadne," Arthur repeats. That name sounds familiar. "Aren't you supposed to be--"
"Giving Theseus a spool of red thread so he can escape the Minotaur's labyrinth?" she asks cheerfully. "Yeah, I Fedex-ed it to him."
"Oh," Arthur says. "Well, uh--"
"There's actually someone else here to see you," Saito says. "I told him to wait outside the sentry line."
Arthur feels something like dread pool in the pit of his stomach. "Uh, okay."
"He said he'd wait forever," Ariadne puts in. "So I think I'll just follow you, yeah?"
"I could also use a walk," Saito says innocently. The feeling of dread intensifies considerably, but Arthur drops his bags in the massive tent he's been assigned and then proceeds to the sentry line, because courage is a quality encouraged in heroes, and people are watching him.
He was right to be nervous. There, standing behind a line of armed guards, is--
"Hector," Arthur says flatly, willing the gods to open up the ground beneath him. They never do what they're asked, though. Stupid gods.
"Come now, pet," the man croons. He's not even wearing armor, the shameless bastard. "You know I hate my first name."
"Fine," Arthur snaps, "Eames, hello. Terrible to see you, please go die now."
"Wait," Saito says, "Hector? Your great and star-crossed love is Hector?"
"He is not my great and star-crossed love!" Arthur yells, maybe stamping his foot a little. "Who the hell told you that?"
"I did, darling," Eames says, smiling winsomely. "Of course, if you'd just forgive me, we could forgo the star-crossed part."
"But he is the son of our enemy," Saito says, confused.
"Well, no," says Eames, "not strictly speaking. I'm on his payroll, certainly, but I'm not his son."
"Eames is a mercenary," Arthur explains, putting a hand to his eyes. "A paid grunt. A hero-for-hire."
"Don't be that way," Eames says, wounded. "There's nothing wrong with what I do. You're here, aren't you?"
"I am here out of loyalty and brotherhood," Arthur snaps, "not looking for a payday."
"As it happens," Eames says cheerfully, "I'm hardly being paid at all for this particular job. Just room and board, nothing more."
"You don't work pro bono," Arthur growls. "What the hell are you doing here if you're not being paid?"
"I wanted to see you," Eames drawls, winking. "Honestly, Arthur, why do I do anything anymore? You won't let me near your home, you won't take my letters--"
"You didn't show," Arthur starts.
"Because I couldn't, pet, I've told you, I was held--"
"We're not doing this here," Arthur snaps. "We're not doing this now, Eames, go the fuck away. You're the enemy, for fuck's sake."
"His loyalties don't seem all that firm," Ariadne offers. "We could probably turn him."
"I would be more than willing to be turned," Eames agrees, batting his eyelashes. Arthur turns around and stalks away, but that doesn't get rid of the sound of Eames' voice filtering back to him.
"I'll be here every day!" he calls. "I'll be here if it takes ten bloody years, Arthur, I'm not giving up!"
"Fuck you," Arthur spits back, and dives into his tent, wishing he had a door to slam.
Arthur met Eames at Hero School.
And look, maybe it's a ridiculous cliche, but it's the truth. Arthur had been 18 and cock-sure, invincible expect for that one fucking spot, and Eames had been a few years older, bronzed and tattooed, smiling that ridiculous smile whenever Arthur entered the room. It hadn't taken long for them to start spending time together, and then they were fucking, pressed against cypress trees and dirty practice mats and cool, cool sheets.
One night, maybe a year into it, when Arthur had been sprawled across his bed, Eames had reached down and run his thumb across Arthur's heel. And Arthur hadn't been able to help it--he'd keened and then jerked away, terrified.
"So it's true, then," Eames had said, startled.
"I have no idea what the fuck you're talking about," Arthur had snapped, shying away.
"Oh, love," Eames had whispered, "everyone has their weak spots."
And then, damn him to Hades, he'd leaned down and pressed his lips against it, feathering them. Arthur had thrown his head back and hissed, because Zeus above, nothing had ever felt so good, and Eames had laughed and jackknifed himself up across the bed, kissing Arthur breathless.
So Arthur had fallen in love with him. It seemed like the thing to do.
He'd graduated with three different offers, and he'd taken the best one, for a war in Phyrria that seemed like a good idea at the time. Eames had offered to follow and Arthur had turned him down, because he was starry-eyed and 22 and thought the world would wait for him.
"I'll meet you in Crete," he'd said. "In a year. If you come--well, I won't fight without you again, alright?"
"You're an idiot," Eames had said fondly, kissing him firmly and sending him on his way. "But I love you anyway. Keep that heel covered for me, darling, will you?"
Arthur had promised. He'd left. And then he'd waited in Crete for six fucking months and Eames hadn't shown, so, really, he could be thrown to Cereberus for all Arthur cared. He could come up with all the excuses he wanted--about kidnap, about the fucking Lotus people--it didn't matter.
Arthur had waited and Eames hadn't come. That was really all there was to it.
For the first three years, the sentries don't let Eames inside the camp.
He still comes every day, dressed in increasingly ridiculous costumes and shouting through the wall of people to Arthur. Arthur's busy, occupied with slowly but surely cutting off the Trojan food supply, keeping his own troops armed and ready for the day when the siege eventually breaks.
But sometimes he can't help walking by the patch of grass Eames has taken as his own. He's not about to take a less efficient path just because he has a fucking stalker.
"Arthur," Eames shouts one night, "anybody can become angry - that is easy, but to be angry with the right person and to the right degree and at the right time and for the right purpose, and in the right way - that is not within everybody's power and is not easy. You'll give up eventually, darling."
"Leave Aristotle out of this!" Arthur screams back. And Eames--not that Arthur can even tell from this distance--Eames winks at him.
"At the touch of love everyone becomes a poet," he calls.
"That's not what Plato fucking meant!" Arthur yells. "And that helmet makes you look like an asshole!"
If he smiles for the rest of the night, Ariadne and Cobb can shut the fuck up about it.
Of course, even the most vigilant guards fail eventually. At the beginning of the fourth year Arthur has to go on a supplies run, and when he returns seven months later, he finds Eames playing cards with Yusuf in the mess tent.
"What," Arthur says.
Yusuf shrugs. "He's good company."
"He's the enemy!" Arthur cries.
"Arthur, my love," Eames says, throwing down a card, "I hate to break it to you, but your complex military strategy of starving us to death is not exactly difficult to suss out. I shouldn't worry."
"I hate you," Arthur says. And then--and he doesn't even know why it--he adds, "And eat a fucking sandwich, you're too goddamn skinny."
"Darling," Eames drawls, raising his eyebrows and offering him a slow, sly smile, "I didn't know you cared."
"I'm only keeping you alive so I can be the one to kill you," Arthur growls, and leaves before Eames can turn that into something dirty.
In the middle of the sixth year, Eames meets Patroclus.
Arthur doesn't know it's possible that it took so long, because Eames is almost a fixture in the camp now. He shows up every morning and runs drills with Cobb, talking strategy with Saito and Yusuf when they're done and then playing chess with Ariadne in the afternoons. When he can, he bothers Arthur, following him around and needling him and smiling and generally being impossible.
"The enemy," Arthur repeats fruitlessly, over and over.
"He's not," Ariadne says every time, shrugging. "Gods, he's actually feeding us information. He loves you."
Arthur never knows what in Hades he's supposed to say to that. Generally he doesn't say anything, just walks down to the ocean and has a nice, calming swim.
He's coming in from one of those swims, actually, when Eames accosts him, dragging Pat by his collar.
"This, Arthur?" he demands. "I spend six years throwing myself at you and this is your deterrent?"
"What are you talking about?" Arthur says. "And don't stretch his shirt, my Aunt Erato will kill me if I let his clothes get ruined."
"This is your cousin," Eames says. "He told me. Do you think I don't know what 'cousin' means?"
"Oh for Zeus' sake," Arthur sighs, "no. He is my actual cousin, Eames, my mother made me bring him. I told her this would happen."
"Actually family," Arthur repeats. "Not my boyfriend. I do have standards. Let him go."
"Thanks, Arthur," Pat says, when Eames releases him. He doesn't even sound sarcastic. He is a waste of a relative.
"Run along," Arthur says, waving a hand. Eames blinks at him, furrowing his brow.
"So he's not--"
"No," Arthur snaps.
"So," Eames says, more slowly. "Are you, uh. Do you have any, um, more traditional 'cousins'?"
"I can't believe you're asking me now," Arthur says. "No, Eames, I'm not seeing anyone."
"Oh," Eames says. "Have you? I mean, since--"
"Since I had my heart broken alone on a goddamn empty island? No, actually, I haven't. I hope you're happy. Go away."
"Arthur," Eames says, stepping close. Arthur punches him in the face.
By the ninth year, Eames knows everyone in the entire fucking camp, and even Arthur has to admit that he's helpful in strategy sessions.
"Look," Arthur says one night to the team at large, "we can't go on like this forever. There's going to have to be battle. We've been here nine years. People have families to get back to."
"Some of our families left us for idiotic fucking all-powerful--" Yusuf starts. A lightening bolt splits the ground in front of him, and he turns his face up to the sky, glaring. "You could at least let me gripe, you stupid bastard!"
"YOU ARE MAKING MY PENELOPE TESTY," comes a voice from the heavens. Yusuf flips his middle finger at the sky and turns back to the rest of them, who are so used to this kind of thing by now that it's practically a non-event.
"Sorry, mate," Eames says, clapping Yusuf on the shoulder. "You win some, you lose some, yeah?"
"Let's just get back to the meeting," Yusuf mutters. "What were we talking about again?"
"Battle," Saito says grimly. "Eames, can't you push them a little bit?"
"Do you think I haven't been?" Eames asks, staring down at his hands. "I may only be here for the great call of love and everything, but even I don't like watching people starve to death. This is ridiculous."
"Well," Cobb says, "I mean, there is that one plan."
"Cobb, we talked about this," Arthur says exasperatedly. "It would take too long to build."
"I think you should all come with me," Cobb says. Arthur feels his heart sink, but he follows Cobb outside and down an embankment, where--
"Oh my god," Arthur says, staring at the giant wooden horse, "you built it. You fucking built it."
"Of course I did!" Cobb says, grinning like he's so, so proud of himself. "You said the only problem was the lack of manpower, so I found the men."
"I said that to let you down easy!" Arthur cries. "This is the stupidest fucking idea in the history of stupid ideas!"
"May I inquire as to what the idea is?" Eames asks, leaning over Arthur's shoulder. Arthur would push him off, but he's too comfortable--frustrated. Yes. That.
"We're going to fill the horse with soldiers," Cobb says brightly, "and then present it to the Trojans as a gift!"
"Oh, good, reveal our secret strategies to the hero of the other side," Arthur mutters. Eames nudges at his neck.
"I'd never betray you, precious, you know that," he murmurs. Arthur steps cleanly away, because he would, he did, and Eames' face flashes with genuine hurt before he clears his throat.
"Ah," he says, "it didn't occur to you that you could do something similar with, say, supply carts?"
There is a silence.
"Well," Cobb says sullenly, "not until right now."
They end up going forward with the horse plan, because Cobb pouts about it for literally a whole year and they're all at the end of their ropes.
Arthur's in his tent getting ready, already done up in his armor, checking his supply list one last time, when Eames slips inside. This is the one boundary the stupid bastard hasn't crossed yet, and so Arthur jumps.
"Get the fuck out of my--"
"You idiot," Eames says, staring at the ground by his right shoe. "You're not seriously planning to go into battle like that, are you?"
Arthur glances down, realizes that Eames is actually looking at the patch of skin visible at the back of his foot, and flushes. "The plating broke," he admits. "The armory doesn't have time to fix it. But it's not like anyone knows about--"
"I am not about to let you die because your mother didn't dip you in the River Styx properly," Eames snaps. He pulls the helmet off his head and rips off a piece of the front plating, and then he bends down and starts fiddling with Arthur's shoe. His fingers brush against Arthur's heel and Arthur hisses before he can help himself.
"What is the point," Eames says, ignoring this, "of being in love with an almost invincible man if he doesn't take care of his only flaw?"
"You're not in love with me," Arthur says reflexively. "You just--you think you are, but you--"
"I didn't show up in Crete, I know," Eames says. He secures the armor--and it fits over Arthur's heel perfectly, damn it, damn it--and stands, giving Arthur a once over. "And I've apologized a thousand times and I'll apologize a thousand more, but you might consider the fact that I've been waiting for you far, far longer than you ever waited for me."
"Broke your heart," Eames says quietly. "I know. I honestly didn't mean to, but I did anyway, and I'm sorry, Arthur. I can't tell you how sorry I am. But can't you see you're breaking mine? Can't you see that I meant it, when I told Ariadne I'd wait forever? It's been ten years, Arthur. How many more do you want me to serve before you forgive me?"
"You're--you're the enemy--"
Eames laughs. "Darling, I resigned that job six months ago. I'm here for you. I've only ever been here for you."
"What do you want from me?" Arthur asks, almost a whisper, because he knows he's defeated. And really, he's been defeated since Eames showed up outside the sentry line--hell, really he's been defeated since the night Eames feathered his lips against that tender, tender place on Arthur's foot and told him everyone had their weak spots.
Eames is Arthur's Achilles heel. The fact that he is actually Achilles doesn't make it any less true.
"I want you to come here," Eames says. "I want you to fight with me, and I want you to live through it, and then I want to take you to Crete and build us a home. Will you do that? Can you let me do that?"
"Yeah," Arthur says, stepping forward, "yeah, you know what, I guess I can."
"I feel I should mention," Eames says, pulling Arthur that last crucial inch closer and wrapping his arms around his shoulders, "that, speaking entirely from personal experience, you put on a fabulous siege, darling."
"Well of course I do," Arthur murmurs, right against his lips. "Haven't you been paying attention? This is a war story."
They get in the horse, because everyone wants to go the fuck home, and a plan is a plan. Arthur is feeling a little giddy, the memory of Eames' lips against his still sharp and sweet, and he leans against Eames as the thing rolls along, jostling them.
It's not the most dignified thing he's ever done, letting Eames keep a firm grip on his hips to hold him up, but just because you're a hero doesn't mean you can't let go of your pride every once in awhile. Even heroes like blueberry pancakes. Even heroes like falling in love.
Of course, when the cart draws to a halt, Arthur's giddy feeling dies in his chest.
"Hello!" Yusuf calls, from where he's been pulling out front. He's muffled a little by the wood separating them, but Arthur can still hear him, unfortunately. "I am a lowly no one, and I come bearing a gigantic horse that in no way contains the entire Greek army! It's a present. Or something. Ahahaha."
"We're all going to die," Arthur hisses. Eames just laughs and pulls him closer.
"Don't worry," he murmurs. "As stupid as this is, the Trojans are considerably stupider."
"A gift!" someone calls. "Oooh, Mal, honey, a gift!"
"I am not your honey," a woman spits. "You do not know what it means to be a lover."
In the corner, Arthur sees Cobb do an ecstatic fist pump. He sighs.
"Let's bring it in!" the male voice calls; Arthur's going to go ahead and assume that's Prince Paris. "I can't imagine it contains any kind of doom!"
"Told you," Eames whispers against Arthur's neck. Arthur shudders and Eames' fingers move from his hips to splay across his stomach, a gentle, intimate touch. "You ready?"
"I am always ready, Mr. Eames," Arthur purrs, and is rewarded with a jolt of Eames' cock that he can feel through his armor.
The cart moves forward and stops. There is a long pause, and then Yusuf screams "I HAVE FORGOTTEN THE CODE WORD," and everyone moves at once, pouring out of the exits hand over foot.
"Well, damn," says Paris, "I didn't see that one coming at all."
Arthur cuts down fifteen soldiers in five minutes, his back pressed against Eames'. They move in well-coordinated motion, even though it's been over a decade since their last practice session together. Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur sees Cobb take Mal into his arms.
"Oh, Dominic," she says, "oh, it's been so terrible--"
"You are waiting for a horse," Cobb murmurs, dipping her low. "A horse that will take you far away. You don't know where this horse will take you--"
"Cobb!" Arthur snaps. "Is this really the time?"
"Aw, shit, probably not," he admits, stepping away. "Sorry, honey. I brought you a sword?"
"That works," Mal says grimly, and heads into the fray.
"You don't have any right to talk about the right time for romance," Araidne points out, dancing by and beheading Trojans absently as she goes. "I mean, really, this whole time--"
"Well we've got it together now," Arthur snaps, "so focus, would you?"
"A guy gets a 'cousin' and suddenly he's a bitch," Ariadne grumbles, but she moves away. Eames is laughing and grinning at Arthur's back, and Yusuf is setting charges all around them, and they're winning, they're winning, and really this is why Arthur got into the hero business to begin with.
And then the armor on his foot slips, and before he can correct it Paris threads his bow and shoots straight for his heel. Arthur blinks and freezes because there's nothing he can do and it seems wrong, that after all that he's going to fall right here--
"The fuck," Eames growls, catching the arrow in midair. He snaps it in half disgustedly. "Bloody hell, Paris, do you have to be such a dick?"
"It's in my nature," Paris admits, edging away. "Uh, I'm sorry."
"Run or die," Eames says grimly. "Probably run and die, but I can't be arsed to bother with you myself. Poisoned arrows, honestly."
"It was poisoned?" Arthur demands.
"Fix your shoe," Eames says firmly, firing off several arrows of his own into the distance.
"You saved my life," Arthur says, blinking.
"Yes, well, fix your shoe so I don't have to do it again, alright? A man can only be so many places at once."
"Show your gratitude by not dying, Arthur," Eames insists, stepping over to cover him. "And maybe a blowie later. Fix. Your. Shoe."
"I love you," Arthur admits, bending down to adjust his armor.
"And I appreciate that, pet," Eames says, "but let's kill now and confess our undying devotion later, hmm?"
"Sounds like a plan," Arthur says, and he's up and back in the fight, Eames a solid presence at his side.
The house in Crete is spacious, with an atrium and a large bathing pool. Arthur makes good on his promise and doesn't go to war without Eames, and when Eames leaves--to milk the goats, to go into town--Arthur waits for him.
Eames always comes home.