He shook his head, the squeeze of his shoulders not enough this time. Whiskey was being honest with him, and he needed to do the same in turn. Baring sins and pain. It was the only way to move them past the assumptions.

"Yes, it was. Part of it was," he told him. "It was my job to go down to the drill and stop it. Me, Sulu, and another guy, a red shirt. We failed, and ten billion people lost their lives for that." It should have been simple and it wasn't. He didn't know that he'd ever forgive himself for that particular failure. People could tell him again and again it wasn't his fault, but he'd never believe them. Not entirely.

For a minute he hoped Whiskey didn't think he was trying to upstage him. He wasn't. The guilt for Vulcan was nothing compared to the wall in front of him. But Whiskey should know of his failures and judge him for those as well. He didn't want anything they might have to be built on half-truths.