A/N: Hey everyone! Thanks to all the people who reviewed.

I know no one wants to hear this, but this story is going on a very brief hiatus after this chapter. I'm really, really sorry, you guys, but I'm just having a very difficult time actually working on the actual writing part of writing this fic when I'm worrying about having a chapter written, edited, and ready to go once a week. I don't want to rush writing or editing it because I want to give you guys the best work I can come up with, and if that means taking it a bit slower and putting updates on pause for a few weeks, well, that's what I'm going to do. So I'll be working exclusively on getting this fic finished during November and if things go according to plan, updates will resume in early- to mid-December. Like I said, just a few weeks, maybe even less than a month.

As such, I'll be leaving you guys with a nice, fluffy chapter to tide you over until then, because I promise the angst will be in full-swing before too much longer. ;) As always, comments and critiques are appreciated. (again, though, if you are going to critique, please actually leave me something substantial. Saying I suck doesn't help me get any better :P ) Please enjoy this chapter, and I'll see you all in December! :)

Chapter Six

"It is never too late to be who you might have been." - George Eliot

"Mistair Spock?"

Spock turned his attention away from the reports he had been reviewing in the science offices on deck seven and was mildly surprised to see Ensign Chekov standing in the doorway, running a hand through his unruly curls. It was 1900 hours, a time at which Beta shift was in full swing and the science offices were generally fairly uninhabited, hence Spock's presence. It seemed, however, that he would be facing another delay in reviewing the reports he needed to authorize.

"Yes, Ensign?" he asked, setting his PADD aside. Chekov shifted his weight from one leg to the other, a curious Human mannerism that Spock had found to usually indicate feelings of distress or anxiety.

"I vas vondering if I might speak with you a moment, sir," the ensign replied, his accent thick. Spock raised an eyebrow.

"Seeing as how you are already speaking with me, I am listening," he answered steadily, and Chekov looked away, flushing. The youth pursed his lips then began carefully,

"I vish to apologize to you, sir."

"Apologize?" Spock repeated, caught off guard. "Ensign, you have no reason to be apologizing to me."

"It vas wery long time ago," Chekov said quickly. "On the... day of the Narada massacre, sir, I... I vas the one at transporter controls. I vas the one who lost your mother's signal, sir." Spock began to protest, but then refrained from doing so as the ensign began to speak again. "I vas wery sorry, wery guilty. I am still wery sorry. I meant to apologize long ago, sir, but you left the ship before I, how you say, mustered the courage to speak to you, sir, but I..." He trailed off, muttered something intelligible in Russian, then concluded, "But I haf courage now so I vill say it. Mistair Spock, I am wery sorry. I failed your family and I regret it still."

For a moment Spock was silent, studying the ensign's nervous, youthful features, then slowly he stood. Chekov was young but not small in stature, yet Spock stood head and shoulders over him – he was, however, by no means intimidating as he steadily met Chekov's gaze, a careful gentleness in his gaze that took the young Russian by surprise.

"I understand your sentiments, and please know that I truly appreciate them," he said, selecting his words carefully. "However, they are not necessary. Never have I associated my mother's death with you. I apologize for the distress this line of thinking has surely caused you, however. And I believe the proper response to your apology is 'I forgive you'."

Chekov's eyes glistened and Spock hoped dearly that the ensign would not cry – that would surely be more than he could manage – but the young man replied steadily, vehemently,

"Thank you, sir." He gave a hasty salute and turned to leave.

"Ensign."

"Yes, sir?"

"I understand you are writing a paper that is to be published in an Earth-based astrophysics magazine."

"Ah – yes, sir."

"If you are in need of a proof-reader or a letter of recommendation, I would be pleased to offer you my assistance."

A wide smile split the young ensign's face.

"I vould appreciate that, Mistair Spock, wery much."

Janice Rand was something of a ditz.

She loved her job and worked hard at what she did, taking the duties of being a yeoman very seriously (perhaps a bit too seriously, but no one complained). But in spite of that, she would never be considered by others to be the brightest, the sharpest, or the most tactful of the bunch.

Which was why she nearly screamed and sent her PADD soaring as she was leaving Commander Spock's quarters after cleaning the room (another yeomanly duty she took very seriously) because she nearly walked face-first into the commander himself.

"Oh – Commander!" she exclaimed, blushing a bright shade of red. "I – I'm sorry." She retrieved her PADD from the floor, not daring to look at the Vulcan.

"It is of little consequence, Yeoman. I apologize as well. Is your PADD damaged?"

"No, I, um, I think it's okay," she replied, giving it a few taps just to be sure. "I was just, um, tidying your quarters, sir."

"I am aware of that." He began to step into his quarters when suddenly Janice remembered – how could she forget?

"Oh, Commander Spock," she said quickly before he could retreat. "Um, the other day, when I was off-duty, Yeoman Flaubert knocked over your, um, your incense burner and it broke."

"Yes, I know."

"Well, um, I went and bought you a new one off the net. I think she might have broken it on purpose, and, um, I felt bad about it, sir."

Spock raised an eyebrow.

"That was unnecessary, Yeoman, but I appreciate your kindness." Again he turned to go – oh no, she still had to say – !

"Commander Spock!" she exclaimed, and he paused again and she blushed. "Sorry, sir, just one more thing..." He pursed his lips and nodded for her to continue.

"Well, sir, I – I know that some of the crew doesn't like you for leaving the ship," she said. "But – I just wanted you to know that I don't think that way about you, sir. I think you're a good person." She blushed again. "Or, um, a good Vulcan. Sir."

Spock stared at her a moment – she felt more flustered than she had ever felt before in her entire life, oh no, he would think she was stupid, what was she thinking, saying that –

"Thank you, Yeoman Rand," Spock said, his voice a little less cold, a little less clipped, than what she was used to hearing from him. Janice smiled, relieved.

"Of course, sir," she replied brightly. "Well, that was all. I've got duties to attend to!"

She walked down the hallway with a skip in her step. Janice Rand might not be smart or tactful – but she liked to think that she was the most honest person she knew. If only she knew how to tell Hazel Tolero in Engineering how hideous her new hair color was...!

"Spock!"

He looked up from his morning meal just in time to see Uhura grinning her characteristic bright smile as she sat down across from him.

"Good morning, Nyota," he said in reply.

"I have a big favor to ask you; remember that pre-Reform song we performed for the Academy talent show a couple years ago?"

"I do."

"Okay, well – some of us are having a bit of an impromptu concert tonight down in the rec room on deck twelve. Think you can bust out your ka'athyra and accompany me?"

"I do not have any pressing matters to attend to this evening, so I would be pleased to." She grinned at him, happiness emanating from her, and Spock truly was pleased.

"Great! Okay, we're meeting in the rec room at 1900 but we should probably get there a bit early to rehearse a bit, you know, maybe around 1830..."

That evening there were only about fifteen people gathered in the rec room for the little musical display. Ensign Hampton was just about to start off with his trumpet when Captain Kirk came hurrying into the rec room where he sat down next to Scotty with a breathless grin. Uhura smiled to herself when Spock visibly relaxed in his seat next to her when the captain entered the room.

They were the fourth to perform out of seven. Spock's hands glided over the strings of his ka'athyra as though it were completely second nature, the notes he gently plucked weaving in and out of Uhura's voice. She was a little out of practice with her singing, but since it was a Vulcan song no one seemed to notice. What Uhura did notice, though, was that through their four-minute-long performance, the captain never once looked away from the Vulcan playing the riveting melody that accompanied her. She again smiled a small smile – they couldn't be more obvious if they tried.

Smatterings of applause heralded the end of their performance and Scotty leaned over and kissed Uhura's cheek, murmuring something in her ear that made her smile and laugh. Kirk did no such thing to Spock – but it definitely looked like he wanted to.

"I didn't know you were a musician, Spock."

"I never had a reason to speak of it before."

"You were amazing tonight, you and Uhura."

"I appreciate your sentiment."

Jim took a step forward and closed the gap between their bodies.

"What else don't I know about you?" he murmured softly, wrapping his arms about Spock's waist, pulling his warm, lithe form closer to himself.

"I believe I have to right to keep some secrets," Spock replied with a hint of a teasing tone. Their noses were touching, eyes half-closed and unfocused.

"Maybe someday I'll know all there is to know about you. Of course, by then I'm sure you'll have just come up with more things to be secretive about, won't you?"

"The probability of such an occurrence is high."

"Maybe someday there won't be anymore secrets." A pause – not awkward or hesitant or anxious, but gentle and contemplative and hopeful. "This has been the best week of my life, you know. A week together with you."

"While such a statement is highly objective, I do agree that it has been an exceedingly pleasant seven Standard days."

"You don't believe me? Fine, prove me wrong."

"And how should I go about such a thing?"

"Make the next week even better. Then the week after that – " a kiss on the cheek punctuated the word. " – and the week after that – " a kiss on the opposite cheek. " – and the week after that – " a kiss on a delicately pointed ear. " – and every single week after that better than the one before, every week until the day I die..."

"Then surely I will endeavor to do so."

Their lips met slowly, lazily, unhurried and knowing that there would be a time for frantic, needy kisses later – but not then, not now. Now, they kissed softly, gently, nurturing and savoring their moment together the way they had savored the past week that was the beginning of their relationship. They kissed knowing that for now it was enough, and they were content.

Time passed, and eventually life aboard the Enterprise returned to largely the way it was for Spock before he left. Crewmen stopped shooting him curious or accusing looks in the hallways. His nightmares were finally gone. The command crew, with whom he spent roughly sixty percent of his time, all seemed eager to re-assume their working relationships with him after it became apparent that his stay would be more permanent than everyone seemed to anticipate.

He helped Ensign Chekov complete his paper on astrophysics. Lieutenant Sulu invited him to the botany lab several times to study the various alien plant specimens they had gathered in their travels. Chief Engineer Scott often consulted him about various engine modifications he was attempting (a few of which were of dubious legality, but Spock was fairly certain that Mr. Scott, much like the captain, would not heed regulations even if reprimanded). Commander Giotto, the head of Security, invited him to spar with other members of the crew on Wednesday evenings (once he ended up sparring with the captain – that had been a very interesting experience). Uhura was her usual smiling self, for which he was thankful. And Captain Kirk...

Jim. Jim was wonderful. He woke most mornings with Jim curled up against him, and they had ceased using the alarm clock in favor of kissing each other awake, thanks to Spock's internal sense of time. Fleeting glances on the bridge, quiet conversations over chess or reading or even paperwork, stolen finger-kisses between shifts – Spock took every moment that Jim made special and tucked it away not in his mind where every other memory was sorted, but in his heart. He knew it was illogical, but those memories were more important than the rest.

And with these memories in his heart being added to daily, all their other troubles seemed petty and impertinent. For the first time in a long while, Spock was more than happy – he was completely and utterly blissful.