"No! Goddammit, you can't just let them follow us like that, you have to actually cut them off!"

Her eyes fling open, shutters in a hurricane as her breath comes in jagged gasps. Her hand instinctively clutches her stomach and she scans for blood, for the unmistakable handle of a phantom chef's knife.

Arthur goes ice-cap pale as Cobb begins throwing papers from the staging area. His hands shake as he fumbles with the trocar just below his elbow crease.

"If I'd remembered there was a gap, I would've capped it off better; as it was, I thought the mirrors would hold them," he sputters. He keeps his hand pressed against his right temple, tilts his head as if his ears are still ringing; she recognizes the signs of a first-time head wound. "I'm sorry," he emphasizes, filmy-eyed.

Cobb slams the a fist against a hot metal wall. Mal sinks beside Arthur's tattered beach chair and moves tepid fingers out of the way. For a moment, she imagines she hears the contents of his stomach roil. Silently, she untangles the IVs leading to their machine/SOMNI. It's an older model and the sedative is long past out of date. They'll need more supplies soon if they're going to keep up the rigors of training the new pup.

A wave of nausea interrupts her thoughts and her breakfast lurches to the floor before her hand can fly to catch it. Dom is still yelling.

Arthur flies into action.

"Oh my god, Mal, are you alright?" he asks, kneeling beside her. Strands of his hair drift into his eyes as he hovers around her like a mother hen.

The stench is enough to make her dry heave as Arthur helps her stand, her husband frozen a few feet away from her.

"It's alright, cher, really, it's nothing," she says softly, easing back into her own ragged chair.

It's not nothing. With Phillipa barely starting Montessori classes, displaying a mounting attachment anxiety, sleepless nights lost to mutli-episodic bed wetting, plus a new protégé to push from the nest, the tiny bean floating in Mal's womb has no other choice.

"Are you alright, Mal?" Dom asks, significantly more calm than he was moments ago.

"I said I'm fine," she responds, holding her wounded belly. "Let's try it again. Only this time, I'll take care of the level." She looks at Arthur as she replaces her line. "You just concentrate on the fissures, okay? I'm sure once you know what to look for, you'll provide safe passage."

Arthur smiles weakly and pushes his hair down slick. Cobb's hair is wild and he heaves a sigh before resetting the machine's sleep counter.

"And remember, this time, don't-"

"Don't engage with anything or anyone that appears psychologically significant. It's just tricks of the light. Got it," he repeats sullenly.

Dom huffs, grinning, undoing the storm. He pats Arthur's back sharply.

"Okay… okay."

Mal's breath shudders as the ice climbs up through her veins once more. She exhales to the sound of a baby screaming.