First off, I AM SO SORRY THAT I COULD NOT UPDATE SOONER. My family and I were on vacation and I assumed that since it's 2009, the beach house (which was in a neighborhood built only like two years ago) would have wireless internet connection. Guess what? It didn't. We could have bought internet access, but it would have been $35 per person and that was just a ridiculous price to pay. Obviously, you don't know my family, but we are so friggin' cheap. We've been reusing Christmas paper for years. Seriously, I can't remember the last time I was allowed to just rip wrapping paper off of a present. Anyway, the point is: I had no internet and had no way to update. Again, I apologize.

However, the good news is that I have plenty of time to write and now I have the next few chapters ready to be uploaded. Hopefully, the next updates will come much faster.

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek. I am now penniless from my excursion to the beach, so don't sue because you won't get anything. Although I do now own my favorite chocolate raseberry fudge. Yum! Also, I don't own James Bond (See Kirk's nickname for Spock). Also, I did not create his mother's nickname for him. I borrowed it from fable69's story Enterprise High (which is mindblowingly awesome so check it out!).

Commander Spock

Carve your names on hearts, not on marble.
-Charles Spurgeon

Everyone calls him Commander.

He received perfect marks in his Starfleet History courses at the Academy during his time as a cadet. Like any other driven student, he knew at least the basics of each previous captain of the Federation. Each of them possessed unique qualities that separated them from each other, distinguishing themselves from an otherwise uniform fashion. One consistency between them all was that, without fail, they had all suffered losses and made sacrifices for the good of their ship and subordinates.

Most notable was Captain George Kirk. Twelve minutes as captain. Saved more than eight hundred lives. During his years of learning and working beside Captain Pike, Spock observed that the older man was often known to recite the man's accomplishments.

Spock knew he would one day go down in history books, and future driven students will learn his name. If by no other fact, he will be distinguished as the only Vulcan to ever gain captaincy.

He will not be known as Captain George Kirk was known. Twelve minutes as captain. Saved more than eight hundred lives. He will not be known as Captain James T. Kirk was known. Within the first day of his captaincy, he saved planet Earth and subsequently the entire Federation.

He, however, will be known as Acting Captain Spock. Five and a half hours as captain. An entire planet imploded. Over six billion Vulcan inhabitants dead. His mother dead.

So he submitted his candidacy for First Officer. Commanders are not remembered by as many students as captains are remembered, but no matter. He felt that, given his past experience with captaincy, it was logical for him to remain the Commander.

Kirk calls him Mr. Spock.

Tap, tap, tap.

"I believe it is your move, Captain."

Finger scratches chin.

"Well, yeah. You just moved. It's only logical that I would be next."

Slanted eyebrow rises.

"Mocking my culture will not help you gain a victory."

Tap, tap, tap.

"Oh, I see now."

Dark eyes scan the three boards.

"Have you finally decided on a move?"

Hand removes from chin to adjust a single piece on the middle board.

"Checkmate."

Self-satisfied grin meets a harsh, straight line.

"Do you expect me to be impressed?"

Arms cross against gold chest.

"No, Mr. Spock. I expect you to lose."

Uhura calls him mpenzi.

Silence fills the air around them, but the quiet is not unwelcome. Spock grades papers meticulously, his eyes scanning over each translated word, easily detecting the translation and grammatical errors.

Nyota sits beside him with a similar task in front of her. Her pile is significantly smaller than his, and she quickly finishes her own corrections before handing the pile to him for further inspection.

The outside bell chimes five times, signaling the evening's hour. They both know that it is time for her to go, and since she finished her work, there is no reason for her to stay any longer. However, even with this knowledge, Spock feels no surprise when she continues to sit beside him.

He can feel her eyes on his form despite his concentration on grading the assignments of her fellow cadets. But he is a Vulcan of many talents and is completely capable of grading papers with only the use of one hand.

His left hand extends towards hers, and he can sense her smile as she takes it in her own, much darker hands. He does not look up from his work, but can feel his attentions wander from the conjugated verbs on the paper.

Nyota traces her slim fingers over and across the palm of his hand, drawing mindless symbols. Her touch on his continues to distract him in a most pleasurable way until Spock can no longer focus on the words before him.

He turns his head slightly to the side to see her eyes burning into his skin. He watches her as her eyes follow her dancing fingers, and it is clear to him that there is meaning behind her movements.

She glances up to see him carefully observing and a warm smile spreads across her countenance. Her sparkling eyes never leave his as she deliberately drags her finger against his palm. His quick mind creates an outline of her shape, trying to match its likeness to a familiar symbol.

"M?" He questions. Her nod reassures him, and she continues with her next letter.

Soon, he has managed to recognize each letter she traces until she stops her drawings and merely holds his hand within her own.

"M-p-e-n-z-i?"

She nods again, her eyes gleaming with what he identifies as happiness and something akin to barely concealed excitement.

"I apologize, Nyota, but I'm afraid I don't know the word or language it comes from," he admits, ready for her to assume the role of teacher and him as student.

"Mpenzi," she breathes, and he can feel his skin prickle under her intense gaze as he tries to decipher the emotion behind the single, beautiful word. "It's Swahili for Beloved."

McCoy calls him hob goblin.

The purple flower beneath his gloved fingers leaned away from his warm touch, creating an unforeseen difficulty in obtaining the flora in order to examine its properties. Spock examined the panting petals for a moment before Doctor McCoy rolled his eyes and reached over to pull the flower from the ground without a moment's hesitation.

Spock raised an eyebrow but remained silent. The doctor's methods may have been uncultured, but they are nonetheless effective. The flower was placed inside an airtight container to preserve its life until they could beam back to the Enterprise.

The blue-clad pair walked further though the lush orange grass of the planet's surface, looking for more flora to collect. The silence wears thin between them, and Spock felt reminded of his older counterpart's suggestions to establish firm friendships with Captain Kirk and Doctor McCoy.

In an effort to create such a relationship, Spock had earlier offered to accompany the doctor on his search for plant life. McCoy had grunted, but said nothing to prohibit the company. An hour later, they spoke little but had gathered several plants McCoy believed may hold medical properties.

A buzz from McCoy's communicator indicated that the captain sought their location. McCoy barked their location into the small communicator before snapping it shut.

"See you soon, Bones!"

Kirk's parting words caught Spock's attention. He had often heard his captain refer to the CMO as Bones, but was unaware of the meaning.

"May I inquire about a personal matter?" He asked the doctor who gruffly nodded in response. "Why does Jim call you Bones? I'm afraid I do not understand the connection between that and your given name."

McCoy looked up with exasperation plainly etched onto his skin.

"Because he's an idiot."

"I see."

They continued shifting patches of thick grass aside to look for mushrooms or odd weeds. Spock anticipated Kirk's arrival to break the terse atmosphere. Despite his older self's assurance that McCoy had been a close friend of his in the other timeline, Spock could not fathom how they would ever breach their cultural and personal differences.

"I don't know much about Vulcan culture. I only know your people's physiology," McCoy began abruptly, his voice somewhat kinder than previously. "Anyway, I don't know your marriage traditions. But if you can avoid it, don't get married."

He looked over at Spock with hardened eyes and a set mouth, perhaps provoked by Spock's earlier question. His expression contained its normal annoyance, but for once it did not seem to be aimed at Spock.

"You are a fascinating specimen, Doctor McCoy," Spock told him, privately amused by the doctor's attempt at conversation and friendly advice.

"Shut it, you hobgoblin."

Kirk's footsteps cut off any response Spock may have had for the doctor's prejudiced comment. They both turned to see their captain approach, each raising an eyebrow at the sight of a ripped gold shirt. Honestly, Jim had only been on the planet for fifteen minutes at most. How could he have subjected another shirt to such a demise?

"Fascinating specimen? Hobgoblin?" He questioned his two friends, peering amusedly into their faces. "Did I interrupt a moment between you two?"

His sly look earned him a scoff of disgust and a pair of pursed lips.

It was a most peculiar feeling, but for the first time, Spock felt as though perhaps there was hope for his alleged friendships.

His mother called him Sprocket.

Even Vulcans need sleep after hard labor and extremely emotional experiences. After the events on the Enterprise, Spock slept for a full day before finally rousing from his old quarters at Starfleet.

His body felt stiff with restlessness and his mind was sluggish as if drugged, but he could not remember taking any narcotics. Though, his memory after returning to Earth was fairly hazy, and Dr. McCoy had been what humans would deem "hypospray-happy."

He stood from the bed to stretch his long legs, shutting his eyes tightly to dissuade the headache forming in his temples. His sleep had been naught but calming and had been filled with terrifying images of Vulcan's last moments. Of his mother.

Whether his legs gave way due to lingering stiffness or emotional turmoil, he did not know. But he found himself sitting on the bed, much closer to the floor than before. His mother's face filled his mind's inner eye, and he clung to it, terrified he would someday forget her image.

Kirk had asked him repeatedly how he felt, if he needed anything. Nyota was just as concerned, but knew enough to give him the desired space he needed. Though, before allowing him to remain in his quarters undisturbed, she gave him a concentrated stare and asked if he had any regrets.

He merely kissed her forehead in an unusual display of compassion and reminded her that she needed sleep as much as he did.

She left him alone, and for that he was most thankful. Most people would have expected him to lament the fact he had never told his mother that he loved her. But no, that was selfish. It was selfish to regret something that would have benefitted him as much as his mother.

The answer he could not give to Nyota lay beside his mental image of his mother. He regretted never allowing her to fix his sweater, despite how unnecessary it was. He regretted ignoring her onscreen communications in favor of working on assignments. He regretted never returning her many hugs.

He regretted showing his disdain when she called him Sprocket.

Thank you so much for reading. Also, thank you to everyone who has reviewed, alerted, favorited, or lurked this story. It's all appreciated. :) And it's especially appreciated that you have had patience with me while I was away from the internet and was unable to update.

Please review! Let me know what you think! Let me know what you liked or didn't like. If you have any suggestions, I'd love to hear them. I'll be updating soon with Uhura's chapter.