Crichton sits there, silent and numb. It's the only way he can survive the verbal razor wire Arthur's laying out in front of him. It's so difficult to divorce his hatred for Harvey from this. He can't... he can't picture himself ever feeling for Harvey what Arthur has come to feel for John. Friendship? Love? He could never. But it's Arthur's truth, not his.

Harvey has saved his life plenty of times, but only because that's what Scorpius commands. But, if there's no one commanding John...?

...if making unforgivable mistakes means he deserves to be taken and tormented by the King, then for god's sake, Crichton, apply the same standard to both of us!

He huffs out a long breath, sagging in place with it. He had it all wrong from the start. John was never the equivalent of Harvey. John was... Aeryn--a being born to cruelty who, with the right mentor, is learning to be a person. He could put his face in his hands and weep. What comes out instead is a crackle of insane laughter.

"I'm sorry. You're right. He doesn't deserve that. Neither of you do. I'm sorry that you're here again now when you should be there to save him. I'm working on a way to get out of here. I have to get Harvey out of the picture, first. But after that... I'll try as hard as I can to get you home. So you can get him back and screw that King."