He should lie and say he's just not been feeling well. He should leave and figure out an excuse for it later, much later. He should hold everything that happened tight to his chest, in his mouth, on his tongue, and choke on it.

But he remembers, at one and the same time, that Ossie has also experienced being snatched away, and that his own holiday to somewhere even worse than the ship lasted many times longer than Arthur's. And he is overwhelmed, suddenly, with the need to connect with someone on this. John is gone. Parker is dead. Crichton is... Crichton. He has friends here, but he still feels so fucking disconnected from everyone, like the lines mooring him to humanity have been cut, and he's grasping at them while they slip through his hands.

"I, er," he says, his voice wandering.

"No. I... no." It takes a lot to just... say that, bluntly, without it being a self-effacing jab, or at the end of an emotional outburst. "I, er..."