Two somethings, and yet Arthur can't bring himself to voice either of them.
One has never in nearly five years stopped being an open wound, and on top of that it would invite judgement, something he richly deserves but is too cowardly to face from Crichton of all people. They're a team, but maybe that judgement ends with them not such a team any more.
The other is-- it has to be wrong. It has to be. And he can't worry Crichton with something like that if he's not sure that it's true. (But if he's so sure that it's false, why is he losing so much sleep over it?)
It's become habit by now, if Crichton sits next to him, to pat his arm or shoulder, both in greeting and to judge distance and position. (Arthur strongly prefers to have a spacial map of what's around him.) On this occasion, though, he stays rigidly in place.
no subject
One has never in nearly five years stopped being an open wound, and on top of that it would invite judgement, something he richly deserves but is too cowardly to face from Crichton of all people. They're a team, but maybe that judgement ends with them not such a team any more.
The other is-- it has to be wrong. It has to be. And he can't worry Crichton with something like that if he's not sure that it's true. (But if he's so sure that it's false, why is he losing so much sleep over it?)
It's become habit by now, if Crichton sits next to him, to pat his arm or shoulder, both in greeting and to judge distance and position. (Arthur strongly prefers to have a spacial map of what's around him.) On this occasion, though, he stays rigidly in place.
In a measured tone: "I'd rather not."