It's here, down under and under and under again, where Arthur lets himself look upon Eames's face as he puts the headphones on. The Forger looks so peaceful that it takes near all Arthur's self control to keep his hands off the PASIV, not to hook himself up to Eames, to steal a moment in a dream within a dream, for which they don't have time.

Instead, he brushes over Eames's brow, actually, truly feeling the wet-sand-colour of his hair under his palm, and leans over to press a gentle kiss on Eames's lips before beginning the count to the kick.

It's not that Arthur fears he might never have the chance again. It's not that Arthur fears. It's not that.

It's not.