Re: [Dream Training]
Arthur's exquisite tailoring and the lack of a firearm to blunt the line was noticed by Eames as moderately less interesting than the fact of the air of irritation he carried with him. Eames didn't trust Arthur - he didn't trust Hannah either, but he trusted Arthur rather less for knowing him - but he knew enough to pick out the strains of irritation like blends of tea. This was mild. Had Hannah aired what it was like to be a possession instead of a person, Eames would have heartily agreed that that was terrifying. But in the absence of the suggestion he simply found the idea that he'd have an untrained dreamer inside his head as Arthur controlled the chemicals that kept him under, mildly disobliging.
"Hannah, then," Eames threw what was an encouraging, with a touch of dazzle, smile in her direction that washed warm, indulgent and friendly sentiment into a room that had dropped metaphorical degrees by virtue of Arthur being added to it, like ice-cubes poured into warm water. It was deliberate. Eames was always deliberate until he wasn't and no one ever really knew when that happened.
"We've not said anything at all. You're headmaster here, I'm just head prefect," Eames said, looking at Hannah. He'd every expectation she comprehended that here was not the sort of camaraderie you'd expect from old teams, although the eddies and currents that ran below the surface were deep and complicated. "I don't know if it's dangerous. I don't know how it works, I was never a chemist. But if you're going to go under, darling, I prefer to know who's putting me there. And whether I can shoot them for it when I wake up," Eames added, placidly.
"You'll cover it off, darling. You do it so well." To Arthur.