[ Eames tries to give Freddy his best withering look from the backseat, but it's only a pained, fatigued glower. This face isn't really prone to looking altogether too upset so it might be akin to finding Samara on your television, but whatever. ]

We have the chance of being killed every other weekend in this bloody place - or outright disappearing - and you're asking me why I'm constructing a will?

[ Also whose car is this... ]

I look like a burst grapefruit. [ Fuck, fuck, fuck.

When Arthur died, he came back - but without a heartbeat, always cold to the touch. The price to get so much of a glimmer of warmth back, Eames still thinks, was too much. ]

If I pass out, you're my proxy.