Eames had gone about brushing his teeth and then washing his hands, having to turn the water to cold almost immediately because hot was too reminiscent of Arthur's blood spilling across his fingers, something that had happened once or twice in recent memory and wasn't something he ever wanted to feel again if it could be helped.

After that he'd brushed his teeth again because he could still taste bile in the back of his throat, and he had to sit on the edge of the tub just so that he couldn't see his own face in the mirror, because that was something else he couldn't handle just then.

He knew that he should go check on Arthur -it had to have been more traumatic for him than it had been for Eames- but he couldn't quite bring himself to do so yet. Soon, certainly, but not just yet, still trying to wrap his own mind around everything he'd experienced just in those few moments.