Crichton says he has a gun, even offers to give it to Arthur to shoot, and for a moment that seems so tempting. So well-fucking-deserved. Revenge for Parker, revenge for Arthur, and something evil removed from the ship, at least until it's brought back in some cabin at 6am. He's committed murder on more spurious grounds than that.
None of those reasons hold up, of course. Parker wouldn't be avenged, and Arthur's barely worth avenging. And John's not evil, just an unbelievable prick.
But oh, it's like John's trying to goad him into it. At one more death Arthur moves as if to fight, wanting to shut John up, especially in front of Crichton-- but he stops short of actually kicking or throwing a punch, and he has no good verbal counter.
John rises to his feet (his feet, god, Arthur's still not used to it), and after a moment, Arthur scrambles to his own. Even though he can't see it, he's so, so very aware of the gun that must surely still be pointed at John. Not a permanent death, not here, but a little bit of pain in return for the pain he's dealt out.
Arthur's hands are in fists, and the fists are trembling.
No, he doesn't want to fucking kill John. Abruptly, he doesn't even really want to hurt John. He doesn't want to think about John, he doesn't want to know John. He doesn't want to fuel the captain by fighting with John. Everything about this is bullshit, just a fucking mess.
"It ended when I woke up here a month ago," he says, sounding more irritable now than angry. He's so, so fucking tired of this ship and its games. He'd started to make peace with the idea of not going back to his own specific world, and then... god, as if the captain had read his mind, this fucking happens. Just... fuck.
How would it have gone if Arthur hadn't punched him? Well. He'll never know now.
"I don't want to kill you, I just... fuck. Just, just go away. You got yourself a body; now we don't have to darken each other's fucking doorways ever again."
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None of those reasons hold up, of course. Parker wouldn't be avenged, and Arthur's barely worth avenging. And John's not evil, just an unbelievable prick.
But oh, it's like John's trying to goad him into it. At one more death Arthur moves as if to fight, wanting to shut John up, especially in front of Crichton-- but he stops short of actually kicking or throwing a punch, and he has no good verbal counter.
John rises to his feet (his feet, god, Arthur's still not used to it), and after a moment, Arthur scrambles to his own. Even though he can't see it, he's so, so very aware of the gun that must surely still be pointed at John. Not a permanent death, not here, but a little bit of pain in return for the pain he's dealt out.
Arthur's hands are in fists, and the fists are trembling.
No, he doesn't want to fucking kill John. Abruptly, he doesn't even really want to hurt John. He doesn't want to think about John, he doesn't want to know John. He doesn't want to fuel the captain by fighting with John. Everything about this is bullshit, just a fucking mess.
"It ended when I woke up here a month ago," he says, sounding more irritable now than angry. He's so, so fucking tired of this ship and its games. He'd started to make peace with the idea of not going back to his own specific world, and then... god, as if the captain had read his mind, this fucking happens. Just... fuck.
How would it have gone if Arthur hadn't punched him? Well. He'll never know now.
"I don't want to kill you, I just... fuck. Just, just go away. You got yourself a body; now we don't have to darken each other's fucking doorways ever again."