God, the sound of his voice cut something inside of him. It bore down and made him want to do any number of things. He wanted to hug the other, wanted to get up and leave him to his grief. He understood a part of it, the loss, but only a fraction of it - the loss of Pike, the loss of Spock, and Leonard, and anyone he cared about in Luceti. He wished he knew what to do for him, how to make it better even though the logical part of himself told him that he couldn't. It wasn't something you could make better, even as much as it pained him to see Whiskey show even the slightest distress.

Maybe he would get punched for it, maybe it would make Whiskey withdraw, but even so he reached out and laid his hand over Whiskey's. An offering of comfort if he wanted it, a show of solidarity maybe, a shoulder to lean on when he was ready for that or needed it.

He searched for something to say, but came up blank. What was there to say? So he left his hand where it was, letting the other take his time.