Dieter couldn't imagine what was going on in his subconscious at any given time. He had such a constant need for activity and keeping his hands and mind busy that perhaps it was something truly dark, down there.
He smiled up at Eames. Best not to think about things like that. "And in yours," he agreed. Eames was certainly a delight.
"I died," he told him after a moment. He couldn't shake how much that sounded like what Eames described. "Being here now, it feels like that. Maybe that was the dream," he decided. It probably wasn't, it was probably real, but he wouldn't worry about that now. How could he, with his head on the lap of a man like Eames?