[Crichton takes in another hitching breath, but on the exhale his expression relaxes by a few degrees into something more neutral, if still pained. When those eyes open again they are still unfocused, but they now look coldly on the face of the man that holds him. It is Harvey looking, not Crichton, but he too is displeased by this attack.]

I...trust…

[It’s apparent speaking is taking some not insignificant amount of effort. He has to fight against the twitches still pulling at Crichton and his shared lips in order to form the words. The light burns his eyes just as intensely, though he can withstand it enough to keep eye contact now.]

...that...you have...a good...reason…

[He doesn't manage to finish that sentence, because his jaw suddenly locks up again. He can only fight the symptoms so well, and communication in this method is nearly a wasted effort as a result. This, he feels, should now be readily apparent to his creator and former master.]