His throat tightens, and he finds himself holding his breath while Arthur speaks. She was so young. Only four and a half. Tears prickle at his eyes while he tries to imagine her, tries to piece together all of those wonderful little moments Arthur shares into the picture of a happy, clever, kind little girl. If his own chest feels like it's being cleaved open, how must Arthur feel?

When Arthur's voice grows thick, Crichton reaches out to gently take his hand, so he doesn't have to relive this alone without comfort.

"She sounds like she was a joy in your life and a blessing to anyone who got to know her. She would have grown up to be a caring young woman, since she was already so willing to come and comfort you. I can almost see it... I can tell she meant the world to you."