He laughs softly, going to flick on the kettle and gather up the components for two cups of tea.

"It looks soft?" Eames offers as an answer. Definitely nothing to do with that vivid memory, holding a dying girl, gaunt and sick but unmistakably Nancy. Of cradling her in his arms, one hand stroking thin, matted hair and murmuring softly to comfort her in her final moments.

He's just feeling nice today, that's all.