Gerard is very familiar with dreams. Nightmares, really. But there's certain things that are tells for him, that have always been tells to let him know. He takes out a cigarette to light his own - it wasn't cigarettes that killed him, after all.

"Mmm? Like what?" he asks, trying to distract himself from the watched feeling that's amplified a hundred fold since they got here. He can't see the Watcher in the sky yet but he knows it's there, or it wants to be and something about Eames being here is holding it back for now.

He just hopes it won't freak Eames out too badly when it opens.

On his hands, all the eye tattoos are still tattoos, thin delicate lines, small enough to be masterwork with how fine and detailed they are.

Out of sync with one another, they blink, slowly.