Arthur didn't give himself time to wonder how Crichton would take all of that, but he's ready for it to be bad. For a moment it sounds like that's exactly how it's going to be, and he shivers at that laugh, bracing himself to...
Fuck. He doesn't know. He doesn't know. Maybe nothing at all. Everything he had left, he just poured out of his mouth. John's not here. Maybe whatever happens, happens.
What Crichton actually goes on to say... christ, it breaks him down. He didn't expect to have Crichton on his side in this -- maybe not in anything ever again, and especially not in this. Perhaps getting home to help John is a futile promise. The fact that Crichton is even making it means more than Arthur is able to say with tears starting to waterfall down his face like this.
"I- th- Thank you."
That promise is pretty much the only thing keeping him from sinking to the floor. He wraps his skinny arms around himself, cold and overwhelmed and exhausted, part of his soul stretched to breaking across the universes between himself and John.
The breath catches in his windpipe, makes him cough.
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Fuck. He doesn't know. He doesn't know. Maybe nothing at all. Everything he had left, he just poured out of his mouth. John's not here. Maybe whatever happens, happens.
What Crichton actually goes on to say... christ, it breaks him down. He didn't expect to have Crichton on his side in this -- maybe not in anything ever again, and especially not in this. Perhaps getting home to help John is a futile promise. The fact that Crichton is even making it means more than Arthur is able to say with tears starting to waterfall down his face like this.
"I- th- Thank you."
That promise is pretty much the only thing keeping him from sinking to the floor. He wraps his skinny arms around himself, cold and overwhelmed and exhausted, part of his soul stretched to breaking across the universes between himself and John.
The breath catches in his windpipe, makes him cough.