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[ Kalmiya gives him a return squeeze, the circle of her skinny arms somehow more reassuring than a vice. Against his cheek, her chest vibrates softly with the short, quiet half-laugh she gives and he finds it nearly as soothing as the brush of her fingers along his nape. ]

Yeah, I know. [ And that does bring a small, genuine smile to his lips. At this point, he is more than well aware of her blindness to mess. Or in other cases, her near blinding delight of it.

What she says next, though, settles over him like a soft blanket. Within it is the same feeling he used to get when he was young, sharing a haphazard blanket fort with his sister on the cramped lower bunk, trying not to laugh too loudly and get shooed to bed. Kalmiya's warmth soaks through the tether as surely as tea with cake, bleeding across the lines to settle in his bones. ]

... Thank you. [ Arthur pulls away from her front enough to glance up, sincerity shining through. What else could there be to say? The enormity of what she's offered can't possibly be quantified or met with words that would do it justice. He knows she doesn't expect anything in return, because she has a bigger heart than most anyone he's ever met, but there's a sense that transmits across the connection: Likewise. Should she ever need it. ]

[Though it's no great burden to help Arthur hold this weight, it does come as a relief when she feels him smile. When the comfort and sincerity sink in, and she knows that her feelings have not only been understood and taken to heart, but that they've been a balm to this wound that's needed lancing for far too long.

She tilts her chin down to meet his eyes when he pulls back, a content smile on her face as the hand at his nape slides forward to cup his jaw and the gentle stroke of her thumb resumes at the hollow of his cheek. With affection,] It's what friends do, as I recall.

[Of course there's no expectation in return, but that's less a quality of selflessness and more that Arthur has already given her something she couldn't repay no matter how much she gives. He was there when she needed someone, when she had to confront not only the most hated parts of herself but how very alone she's felt in this strange and gluttonous world. Despite their differences, despite the coalescence of his own self-loathsome parts dogging his every step, he came to ensure that she knew she had someone who would be by her side. Even now, with a tug at his exhausted end of the Tether, he reasserts his dedication to that promise.

She can't give anything except her own promise for something like that. And she can't do anything except love a person who's decided to love her like that.

A slight and inquisitive tilt of her head accompanies her easy invitation.] If you would be more comfortable staying here for the night, you're always welcome to.

[ As her hand finds its way to his cheek, he tilts into the cradle of her palm, further soothed by the slow sweep of her thumb. She echoes back his remark about friends (or really, her own, considering) and he smiles in agreement.

He doesn't keep too many friends, for this reason. Because he has never, not once, ever committed to something with less than his whole self. Nearly everything he did was taken to extremes; work, play, love. It meant putting an enormous amount of trust in the person to not take advantage of that. Because it also meant he would show up, every time, through the hell or high water.

Despite how little time he's known Kalmiya, he really does count her among the people he'd chase across the globe, if needed.

It's a well-founded feeling, especially in light of her willingness to let him lean on her for things like this. And for how she follows it up, gently offering for him to stay here, instead of going back to the shared apartment with Freddie and Sharon. Already tired from the long few weeks wrung out from emotion, he doesn't see a reason to turn her down. That, and well: ]

Judging from what happened last time I turned down your sound request, that's probably not a bad idea. [ Look, he's learning.

With reluctance, he lets her go, raking a hand through his hair as the last vestiges of the dream fall away. When the two of them are no longer sharing the same exact space, he'll bend to untie his boots and toe them off, shedding his jacket as he does. ]

[Her lips purse together as a snort of fond laughter escapes her throat.] Don't get too comfortable with my requests. I have plenty of bad ideas too!

[But considering who made the first proposition between them under the blood moon, he likely already knows that not all of her requests are sound!

(Not that she would consider that one bad.)

Given his choice of meeting place, though—I can't be here right now—this seems a more than reasonable suggestion. She can't guess at the details, but there's clearly some factor of his normal base of operations that has made it an unsafe environment for the mental space that Arthur finds himself in. It's better for him not to be there right now if that's the case. And while it wasn't really a motivator for the offer, she feels more at ease too, knowing that she'll be able to do more than just monitor the state of the Tether from afar.

She gives him some space to divest himself of his less comfortable garments. After a moment of consideration and another glance towards the bolted door, she opts to remove her boots, as well. Less likely that she'll need to bolt out of bed ready to run if someone is here to have her back. Along that same line of thought, she breezily volunteers as she pulls the shoes off:] There's a crowbar by the nightstand on this side if you need it. There should be a knife in the drawer, as well.

[He's probably brought his own weapons, but it seems polite to orient him with his options in the event of an emergency.

That said, she props a knee on the edge of the mattress so that she can crawl past him to the other side of the hideous expanse of blanket. The sheets haven't yet gone completely cold since she vacated the bed, so she props both pillows up and then gratefully tucks herself mostly beneath the blanket. Mostly, of course, so that she can extend her arms out in Arthur's direction in a frankly silly invitation to return to her embrace.]

Don't worry, I haven't forgotten how you said you didn't need shelves.

[ He says in amusement, unlatching the holster he had on over his shirt. Setting that aside for now, he tugs his shirt over his head by the collar, unworried about leaving it a rumple on top of his jacket. Left in a plain tee and the dark joggers he'd hastily pulled on, he slips the handgun out of its holster and goes to set it on the nearby nightstand.

Apparently nearby the knife she's got tucked away. And if both of those fail, for some unlucky reason, there's a crowbar by the door. She's prepared. Something like gratefulness and relief settles in him as he watches her get comfortable, blankets rustling with the motions. His eyebrows go up in a small startle when she holds her arms out in a clear invitation, the gesture somehow so whimsical he can't help but huff a laugh.

Well, and crawl into the bed to accept it, sinking down into her embrace. Keeping his full weight off of her, he's tilted just to the side, head pillowed on her chest and a bony shin thrown over hers. One hand skims along her upper arm, palm cupped around her shoulder, thumb idly sweeping along the curve of it. If he were anyone else, this would be weird—it wasn't like most made a habit of cuddling with people they considered friends. But, even though he's keenly aware and protective of personal space—his and others—this kind of easy comfort is something he's used to. He'd grown up with it; he's not afraid to hug his sister. And the amount of times they'd fallen asleep on his bunk or the couch, tucked up close, was nearly uncountable at this point.

So, he relaxes into Kalmiya's hold, radiating a quiet contentment. ]

[Cheeks puffed and mouth pouting, she nonetheless lets Arthur get comfortable before making any complaint. Minor adjustments to the tilt of her body and the set of her weight let her sling an arm snugly over his shoulders, an easy shift for a very practiced cuddler. Friends tend to be synonymous with this kind of thing for Kalmiya, particularly friends of a more intimate persuasion. Her only hesitation has been in regards to Arthur's specific proclivities; she doesn't want to cause him the same kind of distress she did the first time she touched him unexpectedly.

But she likes physical affection. She likes to touch and be touched. And while she's found some resolution in her mirror's wake, in much the way a ravaged place falls quiet after a storm passes through, this endless night hasn't exactly brought her peace recently. So it's nice to have this, to offer Arthur some of the same comfort she finds in this closeness.

It's not home. But it feels a lot closer.

Her played-up indignity also feels familiar in a pleasant way; emphasizing her argument, she pokes her index finger into the shoulder her hand rests on.] I don't need them! I lived on the road for nearly three years carrying everything I owned! And I've got less now than I used to.

[She also never had shelves growing up, on account of lacking worldly possessions, but she's not going to bring that into her playful pouting.]

[ The two of them shift around, minute adjustments to find the most comfortable position for them both. After they settle, her arm comes to loop around his shoulders, both weighted and not. Her hand is warm where it loosely splays along his shoulder blade, the slow rise and fall of her chest the sweetest white noise he could ask for.

Despite his aversion to sudden touch—an instinctive flinch, borne from the military and living a paranoid life—he is, at his core, an incredibly tactile person. Habitually, he holds himself away from making contact with people, well aware of personal boundaries. Beyond that, he avoids touch unless absolutely necessary when running jobs, preferring to come across as nothing but aloof and professional.

Getting to indulge right now, after a horrendous few weeks, an equally horrible evening, and then the drain of experiencing that heart stopping nightmare—it floods him with a gratefulness it's nearly overwhelming. Kalmiya isn't worn, familiar embrace of his sister or Mal, but maybe this is the start. Maybe one day, she will be.

At her faux-annoyed prod, he shifts a bit, shoulders shaking in a quiet laugh. ]

Okay, okay. But, you have to admit they're useful. Besides, you gotta put roots down sometime, yeah?

[ Arthur tilts his chin, glancing up towards her. ] Impermanence can get tiring, after a while.

[The shake of his shoulders as he laughs brings a fresh mote of warmth to her chest. It's always good to hear him laugh—something she realized early into their acquaintance—but especially after everything tonight. The prodding hand settles, her fingers instead beginning to trace idle patterns along the back of Arthur's shoulder.

At the slight motion of his head, she peers down at him in turn, expression curious. A thoughtful hum fills the space after his observation as Kalmiya turns it all over in her head; in the process, her gaze wanders up to the ceiling, and her attention somewhere far beyond that. She had named herself for the tree that had been her only real sanctuary in childhood, but she can't imagine ever putting roots down in the same way. That tree has been there for centuries. And as a fey-touched aasimar, who knows how long she'll live—assuming she even makes it out of this hellhole? There's no place in her mind that could stand that test of time. Impermanence is the nature of the world. She likes when things change.

After a moment of quiet contemplation, her thoughts the distant sounds of life in a dark forest, she answers with a note of curiosity hanging onto her sentiment, as if she's never framed the thought in this context before.] I think my roots will be with people. Not a place.

[There isn't really a place that she belongs. But there are people she belongs with.]

[ Relaxing into her hold once more as she begins tracing her fingertips along his back, he watches as she turns the question around in her mind. There's a thoughtful hum, the reverberating in her chest and then onwards to his, before she looks to the ceiling, expression smoothing out in her contemplation. Having done the same thing on many nights of insomnia, he knows she's further afield than the plant-covered plaster above them.

Over the tether, he can feel the delve of thoughts like the muffled embrace of thick woods. In them is primarily a hush, punctuated by the drift of leaves, the scrape and sway of branches, the chirp of frogs and crickets both. ]

Of course, the people are important. [ They're why he endured fighting Los Angeles traffic or even the long drive out to the middle of Pennsylvania. ] You don't want a space to call your own?

[ While he's got plenty of things in his apartment back home, it's less about the stuff and more knowing there was a spot he could return to, time and again, without worrying over different etiquette or habits. Of course, he's also got plenty of photographs and memories on those walls and all over various surfaces. Like the stupid platypus carving Vivian got him that sits on his desk—she said it reminded her of him: sort of cute and normal, but actually a complete weirdo.

(In retaliation, he'd found a beanie-stuffed one with eyelashes and sent it to her, because they were twins, after all.) ]

[There's a clear split in her thought processes between the moment where she's thinking about Arthur's question and the moment where recollections of his own space float to the surface of his memories. It's a contemplative stroll down the path interrupted by tripping on an absolutely massive tree root which sends her ass over teakettle into a ditch of confusion and fascination.

What IS that thing? is the immediate impression, though outwardly it's accompanied only by a slight furrow of the brow. Rather than consider too deeply whether she wants to hold back some of the relevant information, she offers her answer breezily, like it's a distraction from the real issue.] I've never really had one, so it doesn't make much of a difference to me.

Hey— sorry, I don't mean to nose around, but— [She looks to him with intense focus, alight with eager curiosity.] What was that thing that came to mind? That little creature with the duck bill?

[Truly she has a hunger to learn.]

[ Her startled confusion is clear over the tether, though it runs alongside her processing the conversation about personal spaces. Separate thoughts and yet, rapid enough that switching from one to the other will require temporarily dropping a topic if needed.

Which apparently is the case, since the answer she gives—well, it's kind of sad, really. And it's something he tucks away to come back to later, because apparently his recollection of Vivian's gift is more important at the moment. Having anticipated the curiosity, he still can't help the raise of his brows, nor the bemusement that colors his voice. ]

The platypus? They're mammals mostly native to Australia. [ Not that she'll know where that is, but anyway: ] I take it they don't exist where you're from?

[ Score one for the mundane world having something more fantastical than a place that has fairies. ]

The platypus? [Her disbelieving delight is as clear in her voice as it is in the grin that's broken out over her face. A current of laughter underscores her exclamation.] What a cute name!

[He is absolutely correct that "Australia" doesn't ring any bells for her, but that doesn't seem to trouble her one bit as she barrels forward into this fun new discovery.] We have most of the animals I've seen here so far, so— they might? But if they do, I've certainly never seen one!

[Could she have been summoning Coconut as one of these delightful creatures?? So many missed opportunities!]

I suppose it is. [ He remarks, in a way that indicates he's never thought about the inherent cuteness of this animal's name. Because he hasn't. The delight in her laugh, though, is a bit infectious, making the corners of his mouth turn up. ]

They're not exactly all over, here, either. Maybe there's a whole colony of them on some remote island you haven't been to yet. [ After all, the only reason anyone outside of Australia knew what a platypus was in his world was thanks to modern communications. Well, settlement and science, too. But, a 10 year old in rural America wasn't likely to stumble on it in scientific papers or even in a textbook. Over the internet, though, that was more possible. ]

If you do find them, just be careful, they've got poison spurs on their feet.

They're venomous too?

[Her excitement only peaks higher, Arthur receiving a little squeeze of her arm as a consequence. There is now nothing except adoration for these weird little critters inside her heart.] Well, now I have to find them!

[Remote island. She's taking notes. They've eliminated the Reave, but there are plenty of other remote locations to explore, hopefully with fewer supernatural blizzards and shapeshifters running amok.

A pause, and then an idle musing:] I suppose I could conjure the form of one now, if Coconut wanted a new vessel... Maybe I could invent the platypus.

Yup, just on their back ... feet? Flippers? [ He actually has no earthly idea what they're counted as. It doesn't really seem to matter, since Kalmiya's excitement is palpable, especially as she gives him a brief squeeze with the arm that's looped over his shoulders. All he feels across the tether, too, is a radiant affection, centered around her thoughts of the little creatures. ]

Can you summon Coconut here? [ Is that even a thing? He'd thought with her being cut off from her powers, she wouldn't be able to. ] How often do familiars want for new vessels?

[ This magic stuff is still ... a lot. ]

[A stumble as someone skips. A cloud passing over the sun as it hangs high in an otherwise clear sky. The sheer delight in her face falls for a moment, overtaken by an outwardly very neutral contemplation.] Well— if I can, I haven't figured out how.

[She says that like she hasn't ruled it out entirely, and likely she hasn't. But what she means is not for the foreseeable future. She hasn't felt a lick of the Feywild's magic since that first dream in the grove.] I was thinking...after this. Back home.

[She's well aware that the sudden pull of heartache, of homesickness, probably makes its way across the Tether, and she silently acknowledges its presence by allowing it to sit in her chest and on her unsmiling face. And she leaves the door open for Arthur to acknowledge it, as well, by not changing the subject.

She doesn't do anything to explicitly verbalize the tender undercurrent of longing, though. It's been a long night, and not every sad feeling is so pressing to Kalmiya that it requires examination. Barring any curiosity on Arthur's part, she's content to let it pass without remark.] It depends on the personality of the familiar. They're creatures just like us. Some might get bored in the same form all the time; some might really hate to be anything different.

Coconut likes some variety.

[ Oh. He feels bad for asking as soon as her face falls, sadness eclipsing the previous enthusiasm she had at both the new knowledge and at the prospect of creating something. From the way she'd described it, her magic had been a part of her just like a limb. Something that sat under her skin and tied her to her equally whimsical patron. It only made sense that Sleep wouldn't abide by the voice of an outside god-like being "corrupting" her potential Vessels.

The feeling goes deeper than that, though. Beyond the feeling of missing a part of herself—it's the tug of homesickness. Not for a place, like she'd established, but for people, for the ones who'd already seen so many of her jagged edges and loved her anyway.

He thinks of that abyss of loneliness, the thin bridge stretched out over it, her resolute steps as she crossed and how she refused to look down. The shape of the blackness hadn't been anything but a void. But, he imagines if it took a shape, it would be the empty room, the one she'd occupied but hadn't existed in. Being here must feel like starting from zero, like partially reliving a nightmarish past life.

There's a quiet sense of curiosity about all of it, wondering how it connects to the people she's been traveling with. Maybe it's too soon to ask, with the imposing brightness of her mirror's visage still swimming in their memory.

Bringing a hand up, he cups her upper arm and gives it a gentle squeeze in place of a hug. Over the tether, there's the feeling of him tentatively sliding his arm around her shoulders and pulling her against his side, letting her lean into him. ]

... how would she travel with you? Would she still float or fly, regardless of shape? I don't think the platypus is, uh, very nimble on land.

[His curiosity is a hushed point of brightness in his answering current of emotion, like a flame upon the wick of a candle. She doesn't shy away from it, nor does she step further in to be illuminated; she can't discern exactly what it is that he's so curious about, and it's not in her nature to volunteer reserved information. But it's nothing to worry over, either. She's safe by this candlelight. It will come up when the moment is right.

For a beat she closes her eyes, feeling the embrace at both ends of mind and body, the squeeze of her arm and the reassuring tug on her shoulders. There's the sense of weight against Arthur's side as she lets herself settle into the comfort he offers; in physical space, a small wiggle tucks her more snugly against Arthur, gratitude warming the connection as it does her cheeks.

It feels longer than it is as she lets herself sit in this support. Soaks it in like a sponge—and then, with a deep sigh, wrings it out with the muck and the sadness, where it flows down the drain and leaves her feeling lighter.

Her eyes are more alert when she opens them again, though she doesn't look back to Arthur yet; she's clearly pondering as she regards the cracked ceiling, some whimsy returning to her voice.] I usually just carry her if her form isn't capable of flight...sometimes she likes to be tucked in at the top of my pack. I've wrapped her up in my cape on occasion, too.

[Swaddled like a little baby.]

[ Over the tether, he feels her settle in against his side, tucking into the invitation. It's a comfortable weight, one he's more than willing to bear for however long she needs. Her embrace outside of their connection is more subtle; a different tilt to her body, aligning them more closely together.

How she soaks in the warmth is gratifying as it is relieving. Not that he thought she would turn it down, but, it's still nice to know she's accepting the soft place to land. Even if it feels small, to him, in the face of her reassurance less than ten minutes ago.

Caught up in listening to her breathing, he doesn't notice her open her eyes, though he does note she sounds less drained when she speaks up again. ]

Oh, like a cat burrito?

[After a few moments, the psychic load lightens, less of a heavy lean to her presence as she finds equilibrium with her own weight again. She remains tucked flush to Arthur, though, both physically and through the tether. If he's going to offer her a spot at his side, she'll happily make herself comfortable in it.

There's a beat of quiet consideration, during which her fingertips continue to make little circles on Arthur's back. Then the ping of an idea occurring to someone for the first time and a clear visual of a cat swaddled in a very fluffy blanket.] It would be cute to wrap a cat up like that, wouldn't it?

[Great revelations.] Do cats like that, though? I've mostly dealt with strays.

[A real failing in her witch credentials not to have more cat experience, honestly.]

[ Unsurprisingly, Kalmiya stays tucked in at his side over the tether, but the pressure of it lessens. It's as though she's soaking up the warmth instead of needing someone to help hold her up. An equilibrium, of sorts. For a moment, he almost anticipates the feeling to fade, so used to the more brief embraces he's had over the years. When she remains as she is, though, something in him settles; acceptance. An old familiarity with a new face. He doesn't hate it, not at all. ]

Depends on the cat. [ Arthur shrugs as well as he's able to, with most of his upper body trapped as it is. ] Someone I was working with, he's got a few cats. Apparently one of them likes being wrapped up in a—

[ He pauses, momentarily trying to pull the phrasing up. And once he does, a smile is clearly coloring the syllables. ]—a purrito, he called it.

[ Yusuf had committed the ultimate sin of plotting behind all their backs along with Cobb, so Arthur still hated his guts, but he did have cute cats. He hasn't yet decided if the cats are going to save the chemist from his wrath once the job wraps.

Then again, that will all depend on whether they make it out of performing inception with their brains intact. He feels a spike of anxious annoyance at the thought and dismisses it; there's nothing he can do about it here. ]

[There's no hiding the utter delight on her face and through the Tether when Arthur utters the word purrito. Nor is there any hiding it when she catches the sharp buzz of that asynchronous, electric irritation. Annoyance, yes, but worry's feral cousin as well.

Her eyes widen faintly with surprise and her brow furrows as the spike draws her gaze down to Arthur. She's not terribly interested in pressing him about every troublesome feeling, particularly after the night he's had, but it just seems so sudden. She's pretty sure it isn't the purrito thing; he seemed amused by that, despite himself, and it doesn't explain the current of anxiety that touches the irritation.

For a moment her mind is stirred up, thick canopies of leaves rustling louder in the wind and the activity of distant creatures growing more agitated. Whatever her inclination about this feeling, she has to question her instincts in this context. This Tether thing—it feels so wonderful, but it's so complicated. It's still not entirely clear where to draw the line on acknowledging the information she receives through it.

It's only a breath of hesitation, of rapid-fire second-guessing before a corner of Kalmiya's mouth quirks up uncertainly, offering levity but refusing to mask her concern.] Not a fan of puns?

[She knows it's not the puns. But it's an easy out not to explain his reaction if he doesn't want to.]

[ Amidst the mixture of comfort and delight, there's a startled current. With it, he gets her confusion, the shape of which forms into a curious worry.

Hesitation settles between them momentarily before she takes the plunge, popping the spacious bubble. Ah, well. It only makes sense she'd be concerned about the sudden mood shift—he really does need to make more effort to keep the bleed from flowing over.

Sighing quietly, he figures this is bound to come up sooner or later. ] No, I ... suppose I like them well enough.

[ That part of the answer is a bit distracted, as he puzzles out where to begin. Idly, he strokes his thumb across her upper arm, where his hand is still curled. ]

The person with the cats, his name is Yusuf. Before I got here, he'd done something on the job we were working that might get us all killed. As you can imagine, our relationship is currently rather strained.

[ Understatement of the century, but she didn't need to get all the details in one go. It would be a lot to take in. ]

[Truthfully, she hasn't given much thought to Arthur's occupation. He comes from a very different world than her own, so she wouldn't have the context to guess the specifics even if she wanted to. If it were something he was particularly proud or forthcoming about, he would have already told her, as Freddie had when they met. So it's either not that important to him, or it's so important that he won't tell someone he doesn't trust; in either case, she's not inclined to ask after it.

She does figure that it's at least a little dangerous, because people who live in safety don't survive an environment like this at such an even keel as Arthur has up to this point. Plus, he seems pretty comfortable with that gun he has.

So it doesn't come as a shock to her when he elaborates upon a problem coworker in a life-or-death context. What is more interesting to her is his phrasing; Yusuf already did the bad thing, but the potential consequences are still in the future. So Arthur came to Manhattan with loose ends on that job. Doubtless that contributes to the whirring of electronics she often catches at night, the aural impression of his active thoughts.

Once again, it's clear that she's turning this information over in her head, though this time it isn't out of hesitation. Just curiosity, wondering at how all the dots connect. A touch of wry amusement replaces the worry on her face.] Mm. Incompetence and malice in colleagues are much harder to deal with when the stakes are higher than who's getting the promotion or cleaning the latrine.

[Briefly her focus finds the warmth at the path his thumb strokes along her arm, so that it doesn't instead wander to the few but infuriating times she's taken her friends to task for their choices on missions. Lightly,] One would think he'd be more cautious if he has pets to take care of!

[ Unlike the mechanics of his mind, hers sounds more like a forest when deep in thought. It's the rustle of branches in the breeze, the soft flowing trickle of a stream, the far off rush of a waterfall. Right now, her curiosity sounds like the chirping song of crickets; oddly soothing against the backdrop of his anxiety.

Because as she's surmised: he doesn't know how everything plays out. Whatever result occurs from Yusuf and Cobb's betrayal has yet to come. He's never liked loose ends and this one is especially egregious. Mouth twisting into a frown, he considers her phrasing—incompetence, it hadn't been, because both of them were good at their jobs. In fact, he would say Yusuf is an excellent chemist; even with all the tests, he's barely felt any of the usual side effects he's had on sub par Somnacin mixes.

And Cobb, well, when he's focused, he's an amazingly creative extractor.

Perhaps malice was correct. Trying not to get too worked up over it and appreciating her levity, he gives her upper arm a small squeeze, shifting just a bit to nuzzle his cheek against her chest. ]

You'd think so, yeah. [ Breathing out a sigh, he adds some more context. ] He did it because my—

[ There's a hesitation, words sticking to his tongue. ] —friend, Dom, asked him to. I run point for our jobs, I'm supposed to know every possible pitfall so I can get the team out of it in one piece. Neither of them told me about it until something had already gone sideways.

[ He thinks of the swooping sensation in his stomach when he'd turned around to see Saito pulling bloodied fingers away from the bullet wound in his chest, how it had immediately crashed him out of the adrenaline from the firefight.

More than that, though: ] If this goes wrong, I don't think Dom's gonna be able to see his kids again.

[ Sometimes he thinks of Mal, as he's winding down for sleep. But, it's this which keeps him up most of all—what happens, if none of them make it out of performing inception? What happens to Philippa and James? ]

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