To most people it would be weird perhaps, but in Eames's life, as well as he assumed Arthur's and Ariadne's, it took a lot more than kisses and post-coital arguments to even come near the weird scale. They did, after all, steal information from people's dreams for a living. This? This was not weird.

Odd, perhaps, but not weird. And for all that Eames just watched, his eyebrows going up for only a quick second before he reached for his abandoned glass of scotch and finished it off. He could remind her that being a notch wasn't the worst that anyone could be, but he didn't. It wasn't the time for lessons, nor was it really the time for snide commentary or the sharp little ache in his chest as he watched.