Nyota did not relax until she heard Mr. Scott's confirmation of Spock's beam-up: He's here, Captain, all in one piece. He looks very well.

Upon hearing the words, the bridge crew broke into a spontaneous cheer. The exhibition warmed Nyota's heart. She knew that Spock was respected as a commander—no one felt safer with his decisions—but, as with most Vulcans, his reserved personality did not always sit well with the crew. To hear them cheering his rescue added to the happiness galloping through her that left her almost too giddy to work.

But work she must. First, there was the captain to follow-up with. It turned out that he wanted to remain on the planet a few minutes and arrange with Security for the shuttlecraft to be flown back to the Enterprise. Then Nyota had to contact and make arrangements for beam-up for each of the 17 remaining teams (divided into 34 pairs) that were scattered around the surface. Mr. Scott's transporter was tied up at the moment for decontamination purposes, so she had to place technicians in yet another transporter room so they could expediently beam the search teams aboard.

All of this took several minutes. When she looked around again, she gave a start. Her first impression was that the bridge was strikingly full. Her second impression was that very few of these extra people appeared to be engaged in any meaningful work. Her third impression was that most of these extra people were women.

She looked at Mallory, but as usual, her neighbor was crouched over the scanner, oblivious to her surroundings—probably doing some follow-up readings on the planet. Beyond her, Lo was surrounded by a gaggle of her engineering cohorts. Nyota recognized Technicians Karlsson and Arnaudo, Lumley's pals, among them. They were bunched into a loose huddle, and Arnaudo was whispering, "...got the word out to the whole Engineering staff before he'd even left the transporter room. Between her and Lisa in Security—"

Nyota pricked up her ears. "Who got the word out?"

The entire group started and looked around at her guiltily. Then Lo said, "I thought you were busy with your calls."

"I'm done." Nyota narrowed her eyes. "Who got the word out? Lumley?" None of the others would meet her eyes. "What word?"

Nyota was about to insist, but during the pause in the conversation, the hiss of the bridge door opening came clearly across. Nyota's heart beat quickly, eager for it to be who she thought it was. She spun in her chair toward the door—and froze.

As did everyone else. Across the bridge, every single person went motionless, staring fixedly toward the same point, about two meters inside the door, where Spock was now standing.

With unusually shaggy hair. And a tan. In a loincloth. Spock had come to the bridge wearing nothing but a loincloth. If she weren't so confused, Nyota thought she might faint.

Noticing the absolute silence (as if anyone could have missed it), Spock said softly into the stillness, "Pardon me. I understood that the captain was here."

Everyone continued to stare, their brains too occupied to be able to process speech. Then Nyota found her voice.

"He's still on the planet."

Spock looked her way. Her heart leapt. It was her Spock—her own Spock back again. She could see it in his stance, in his eyes. However doubtful she and Kirk had been about this whole planetary venture, obviously his unorthodox healing method had worked. As tortured as he'd been when he had left for Emagious III, he had somehow managed to put the strains of the recent past behind him.

And acquired some awesome muscles in the process. Spock, in the manner of most Vulcans, was long and lean—a greyhound type of athlete. Nyota had always admired his build. But whatever else Emagious III had done for him, it had bulked up his physique. When he started walking in Nyota's direction, he actually rippled. It was hypnotic, watching the muscles flicker and bunch under the skin. Nyota couldn't look away.

Curiously, Spock did not walk up to her. Instead, his course took him to her neighbor, Ensign Mallory.

Mallory had spun around from her console, like everyone else, when Spock had entered the room. Now she was absorbed in watching this strangely altered Spock—this relaxed, muscular, feral Spock—walk across the room. She was actually leaning back against her console, hands braced there as if for support. The moment Mallory realized that Spock's path would lead directly to her, her eyes grew wider and her mouth dropped open. Beyond her, Lo and her friends were in a similar state. Observing this, Nyota shut her own mouth with a snap—realizing that she herself was not immune.

Spock stopped about one meter from Mallory. Wearing nothing on his feet but his skintight running shoes, he still towered over her. "Ensign Mallory?" he inquired.

She nodded. Nyota didn't blame her. In her shoes, she wouldn't have been able to speak either.

Spock continued in his deep voice, "I hear that you have been appreciating my enhancements."

Mallory's jaw dropped. She looked terrified. "Your enh... enhancements?"

Spock nodded past her towards the science station. "The adjustments I made to the controls. Do you find them suitable?"

Mallory's breath came out with a rush. She looked near to fainting. "Oh. Oh, yes. Very suitable. Extremely suitable. Marvelous... marvelous enhancements."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "I consider them a work in progress. I would greatly appreciate hearing your thoughts regarding the utility of the design for general use."

"Yes! Oh, yes. Happy. Happy to discuss at your leisure. Any time. Yes."

Spock nodded just as if Mallory had not been reduced to a gibbering mess, and turned toward Nyota. She felt the warmth of his gaze as a rush of excitement through her body. Close as he was like this, she could catch his scent: the clean smell of exercise from a toned body, a musky dampness of moist terrain, a deeper scent of sulfur and a sharp, flinty smell that reminded her of mountains. He was near enough now, too, for her to see the small speckles of dirt that clung to his shoes and lower legs, some of the flecks still moist...

Spock greeted her formally, as was his custom on the bridge. He was so composed, he almost might not have been standing there about 98% naked. Almost. "Lieutenant, I understand from Mr. Scott that there is a communication of some urgency awaiting me."

Nyota stared. "There is?"

Spock frowned slightly. "A communication from New Vulcan." There was the slightest query in his voice. "He said you were unable to translate..?"

Nyota came to herself with a start. "Oh! The New Vulcan thing." She hurried to pull up the relevant file. She knew that her hands were shaking, and that Spock would see it. She wasn't sure how she was going to explain it to him; she wasn't sure she could explain it herself. All she knew was that her limbs were weak, and she wanted nothing more than to take that gorgeous Vulcan below-decks right now and... have a personal communication with him.

"Here it is, sir." She was uncharacteristically flustered. Nyota, get a grip! She pushed the playback button.

She watched Spock's face as he inclined slightly toward her to hear the playback. He listened with the single-minded concentration that was his hallmark, but even so, the quality of his concentration was different. He really did seem more at peace with himself, more centered. In fact, he had to have been. She couldn't imagine the Spock of five weeks ago striding around the bridge in a loincloth, completely unconcerned about the possible impact to his dignity. No, this vacation had definitely been good for him. She felt her breath quicken. With luck, it would also be very good for her...

When Spock got to the part of the message that talked about the kashek-shoret wak, a tiny frown developed between his upswept eyebrows. It had smoothed away by the time of the message's end. Nyota looked closely, but Spock was fully in control. She hadn't a clue as to what his emotional reaction to the message was.

"So," Mallory asked timidly, "what is it? The kashek-shoret wak?"

Spock straightened. He was still facing Nyota, pondering the message. Behind him, Lo, Karlsson, and Arnaudo were frankly staring at his ass. It was easy to do, as that little rectangle of fabric by no means provided adequate coverage. It was more like a decoration to help show off the glorious curve of each fabulously sculpted butt cheek. When he'd stood in profile a moment earlier, talking to Mallory, it had been all Nyota could do not to reach out and... stroke him.

But, of course, she couldn't say anything to Lo and her friends now, or Spock would hear. And fixated as their attention was, her warning scowl went unnoticed.

Spock was busy answering Mallory. "Loosely translated," he said thoughtfully to the air, "the phrase means, 'Time when those of like mind are drawn together.'" He narrowed his eyes and murmured, more to himself than to anyone else, "Such a thing has not happened since the days of Surak."

"But vhat does it mean?" Chekov asked from the navigation console.

Spock hesitated. "It is a Vulcan..."

"Ritual?" asked Mallory.

"Festival?" asked Lo.

"Practice?" asked Karlsson.

"...thing," finished Spock.

"Oh!" Chekov cried. "A Wulcan thing!" He threw up his hands. "I feel so enlightened now. Thank you, Commander."

Nyota frowned in his direction, but Spock seemed not to take offense. He turned briskly back to Nyota. "You can assure Mr. Scott and the Captain that this message will not affect our mission to New Vulcan."

"But, Mr. Spock," said Chekov, "you don't even know vhat the mission is."

Spock raised an eyebrow. The swoon squad behind him looked ready to salivate over any gesture so endearing. "That is unimportant, Ensign," he said. "All this crew is required to do is to comply with the colony's instructions."

Chekov grumbled, "We knew that two days ago."

"While I appreciate your zeal in seeking a fuller explanation, I assure you that no elucidation of mine can have any impact on our required actions."

"Yes, sir." Disappointed, Chekov returned to checking his readouts.

"So," Nyota asked Spock quietly, "what is it?"

Spock met her gaze. "Nothing that need concern us." Then he looked away and barely murmured, "I hope."

Nyota had possibly the most gorgeous man in Starfleet standing within her reach. Why, then, did her stomach suddenly have the sickening feeling of freefall?