Re: [Dream Training]
About the only time Eames's face was truly blank was when he slept. And artificial sleep, chemically induced and lasting precisely as long as the timer flashing on the machine, didn't cling. Eames, alone in the house in the woods, slept deliberately as long as he liked. He woke, the lasting traces of military training, for any interruption but he clung to sleep as stubbornly as any man with a fond, bad habit. He came awake out of this sleep all at once, a slow blink of exceptionally long eyelashes and a look upward.
Directly, over the shape of Arthur's shoulder, into Arthur's own face. Eames did three things immediately; he felt for the weight of his cufflinks in his pocket with the tips of his fingers, he smiled, with all the intimated intimacy of being looked over on waking just to put Arthur off his stroke, and he began fitting together all the puzzle pieces of what being under with Hannah had precisely produced.
He could hear the wisp of the machine as it finished what it was doing. "Hannah," he said, deliberately. Delicately. Eames had spent years in this town. He'd never come across broken marionettes in dreams previously, and he'd dreamed a great many. He didn't say anything as dull as 'we need to talk', because Eames rather suspected he'd see something on Arthur's face just by saying her name. That, and Eames didn't especially trust that Arthur wouldn't find a blind spot to pick at with the tip of a scalpel, idling while he didn't say anything about Hannah.
"Were you watching me sleep?" Deliberately irritating.