A/N: So here's the second part of what I'm now calling the "Being" series. I feel like a horrible person because I've got so many other stories that I'm supposed to be working on but this was just begging to be written! If any of you are following my other stories, my apologies! I hope you enjoy this nonetheless.

The fiftieth mission out was bad, but not as bad as the very first. Jim didn't think any mission he'd ever been on or would ever go on could be that bad. That whole Narada fiasco even though technically Jim wasn't supposed to be there. The truth is, Vulcan imploded and a lot of Vulcans were lost and the whole Vulcan race was compromised and it was just terrible all around.

Jim didn't care.

Well, he did, really. Cared so much-guilty, guilty, pain, shock, guilty-for everything that had happened, especially after he met Old Spock. But he-wasn't supposed to be there, God, it was a fluke-hadn't expected it and since he wasn't really meant to be there, it wasn't really his fault-but it was, all his fault, God, Spock's mom-and so he didn't want to care, since it caused him so much pain and suffering.

But he did.

Because it was his stubbornness that got him on the Enterprise in the first place- Bones was just an accomplice. And it was his memory that saved them from warping into a trap. And it was his tenacity that got him picked to go down on the drill.

But it was his stupidity-stupid, stupid, why can't anything ever go right-that sent him ass over teakettle into his very first experience with guilt. Jim had never felt guilty about the cliff incident with the car, or being a bad enough kid that his mom sent him to Tarsus, or drinking so much that he hardly ever remembered the night before. But that single, tiny spark of complete loss that he had caught sight of in Spock's eyes when the Vulcan had managed to beam back, but his mother hadn't.

If Jim had just been a little faster, if he'd been a little more feisty, if he hadn't been there at all, Spock might have had time to save his mom. There might have been time to save the whole planet. If, if, if. Woulda, coulda, shoulda. There were a million 'if's and 'might have's that Jim thought about, especially when the guilt about losing Spock's mom came crashing down on him. But now wasn't time for that kind of guilt.

There wasn't time for feeling guilty about losing a guy's mom-which had been a situation that Jim hadn't had any control over-when the guilt of losing one of your own people, someone you hadn't really known well but had sworn to protect, was moving in. And it was. Fast.

Name: Riley, Kevin

Rank: Ensign

Department: Engineering

Place of Origin: Earth Station II

Wrapped in a heavy blanket, Jim sat cross-legged in the center of his bed and stared down at the PADD in his hands, reading the cold recitation of facts over and over again, not quite ready to accept what had happened. Even after he quit reading and could quote the whole thing from memory, his gaze kept flickering over one line.

Place(s) of Habitation: Earth Station II, Earth, Tarsus IV, Lunar Colony V

And the words kept flinging themselves out at Jim. He had known-ran with, hid with, fed, protected-Kevin. God, he'd only been a kid then. And he'd still been a kid when he died. For all the good Jim had done so many years ago, he hadn't been able to do a damn thing this time around. No matter what he'd promised-"I don't care where you are, Kevin. If you're in trouble, you call me. I'll always save you."-before they'd been separated on the rescue ship, Jim hadn't saved Kevin this time. He couldn't have even tried.

No one knew why a little Ensign's death had hit the captain so hard. Jim knew this to be true. He also knew that rumors were flying every which way, all over the ship, from Engineering to the bridge. Kevin had been his boytoy, they were secretly related, he was just shaken up about the fact that it could've been him.

God.

How Jim wished it had been him. At the moment, he wished that it had been anyone except for sweet little Kevin who wasn't his boytoy because he'd been unable to touch anyone since Tarsus, who Jim had loved and protected as a brother, who had jumped in front of a fucking poisoned arrow for Jim. The natives had claimed it was a test of loyalty; they ran through it with every landing party. Jim had wanted to call bullshit and leave but one narrowing of the eyes from Spock and he had sat back down.

Spock.

Fuck, it could've been Spock that had been hit. Who knew how that poison would've reacted with his unique physiology? What would Jim have done with out his best friend in the whole universe, even though Spock didn't even know they were best friends? What would Jim have told Uhura? How could he look her in the eye and tell her that her boyfriend was dead, not caring one iota about the pain she'd be in because, dammit, his pain was awful too? But nobody would care about that. Because they would assume that Jim hadn't really known Spock and that of course Uhura would have to right to roam the halls weeping at the death of her lover but God forbid Jim do the same for the loss of a friendship he had barely gotten to taste.

Jim shuddered and pulled his comforter tighter around him. He stared down blankly at his PADD and thought about Spock and Uhura. They probably thought that he'd had his precious ego bruised when Kevin-sweet, sweet, never say his name again-died, that there wasn't any real emotion involved.

He was just contemplating throwing the stupid fucking PADD out the airlock when a chiming noise interrupted his thoughts. Jim automatically turned towards the door of his quarters that led into the outer corridor, but had to turn again when he realized the sound wasn't coming from that direction. It was coming from the bathroom door, the one that connected his room to Spock's.

Staring in confusion, Jim brought his blanket all the way around him like a protective shield before clearing his throat and calling out, "Come in."

Spock opened the door just a crack, barely wide enough to slip in through, and shut it behind him. He brought his hands behind his back and clasped the opposite wrists, standing just like he did on the bridge. He was looking at Jim with an unreadable emotion in his eyes.

Jim shifted and pulled at the blanket nervously. "What can I do for you, Commander?"

"Spock."

"What?" Jim asked, tilting his head in bewilderment as the harsh syllable that had been thrown into the silence startled him.

"I have come to you tonight as a. . ." Spock hesitated, his eyes shooting from Jim's to his own feet and back. "Friend. I wish to offer you comfort for the sadness that you are feeling. As such, I believe it would be more appropriate if you were to address me as simply 'Spock'."

"Spock. . ." the Human trailed off, then picked back up with his thought in a much clearer, stronger voice after he shook his head. "Spock, I appreciate what you're doing. Really, I do. But I know how you feel about emotions and I don't want you to do anything just because you feel like you have to or you should."

This time, it was Spock that shook his head. Granted, it was only once and it was very quick. "No, Captain. I have become acquainted with you in these past weeks. I know that you care for the crew very much but do not expect anyone to care for you. I am here to show you that I. . .care."

Jim's eyes widened. "You really don't have to—Maybe you should call me Jim—are you sure-"

Walking over to the bed, Spock stopped at the very edge and stretched out a cautious hand. He paused for a moment to allow Jim to read his intentions before laying it softly on the cool human shoulder.

"Jim," Spock said quietly, looking down into gloomy blue eyes. "I have lost someone close to me. You offered your comfort then, even though we were not on the best of terms. Allow me to offer mine now, acknowledging us as friends."

"I. . .I wasn't close to Kevin. Not really."

"You were close enough to him to use his first name rather than address him as 'Ensign Riley'," Spock observed.

". . .Yes," Jim admitted.

"It is not my business and I shall not pry," He looked down at Jim with a warm, understanding gaze. "I shall simply offer you a customary Vulcan phrase for such occasions as these."

Nodding, Jim leaned slightly into the hand holding his shoulder, reveling in the warmth that came off of it. The way he felt right now, it felt like he'd never be warm again.

"Tushah nash-veh k'du."

Jim barely had a rudimentary understanding of the Vulcan language but what he could pick out, along with the emotion only just hiding in Spock's voice, let him know what was said. I grieve with thee.

"Thank you," he choked out, wanting more than anything to be alone so he could let out the tears that had finally come.

Spock seemed to sense his need as he then dropped his hand and made his way back to the bathroom door. He only turned back once he had reached it.

"Jim. . ." he hesitated, just as awkward with the coming emotive sentence as he had been with the first. "I hope you rest peacefully tonight."

With that, Spock slid back behind the door and, presumably, back into his quarters.

"Goodnight, Spock," Jim whispered to the empty air, the closed door, and the weight that was no longer pushing on his shoulders.

Friend.

A/N: Period. The End. Please review!