Spock had been tense, lately.

It wasn't that noticeable, really, but Jim noticed, nonetheless. He held himself more stiffly than usual. There was a certain tightness around his eyes that the young Captain didn't like at all. They had been serving together on the Enterprise for nearly five years, by then; together for almost two. And, dammit, Jim could tell when something was wrong his his damn Vulcan.

So, during their nightly routine of chess before going to bed (he'd actually managed to convince Spock to sleep in the same bed with him several months ago) he asked. What was up?

"Spock," he started, his tone causing his T'hy'la to look up from the board at him, "What's wrong?"

"What do you mean, Jim?" he asked, eyes as calm and serene as ever, yet oh, so telling.

"Don't be obtuse," he said, rolling his eyes playfully, "I can tell you've been extra tense lately. Does it have anything to do with the trip to New Vulcan tomorrow?"

Spock stopped, as if trying to make up his mind. But Jim knew, even if Vulcans in general did lie, Spock would never lie to him. "Yes," he replied curtly.

"You're not one to get jittery over simple apprehension," Jim prompted.

"There are... specific concerns which come to mind," Spock admitted reluctantly.

"Such as?"

"I am... The air on the Enterprise is very relaxed, which somehow manages to work perfectly fine, for our case, but Vulcan's hold ritual to a higher standard."

"So... you're worried that someone might get too familiar or informal on New Vulcan?" he asked.

"Yes. And, I mean no insult, Jim, T'hy'la, but you will be held to the highest scrutiny, even if we are to be considered off duty. Any raucous behaviour or... inappropriate attire will be viewed as a mark against the respect the Council will give to you, I am sure." It was almost a little pathetic, how goddamn squirmy and uncomfortable Spock looked, admitting his worries.

"I'd already planned on being a good boy. But, you want me to dress up, too?" Jim asked.

"There is no definite need."

That was Spock-talk for 'Yes, that'd be awesome.' Uhura may have been the linguist, but Jim was the only one fluent in Spock-talk.

Jim sighed. "Don't worry, T'hy'la. Trust me," he said with a smile.

–

The next morning, as they were dressing to beam down to the planet's surface, Jim paused. He'd laid out his favourite pair of jeans the previous day, alongside a semi-formal button up shirt to wear over a plain t-shirt. He looked at them.

They were at least 4 years old, if Jim remembered correctly. They'd been through hell and back, but they were so damn comfortable. They were faded to a pale blue and worn thin in more spots than not. There were several rips, in the knees, and even a small one on the backside, along the edge of one of the pockets. Threads hung in a fray at the bottoms of the legs, and the back was virtually shredded, from where he stepped on them, since they were just a tad too long.

He sighed, tossed his cherished Levi Strauss Signatures back in the drawer and pulled out a pair of khaki slacks. He cast a sidelong glance at Spock, who had stopped his dressing to watch Jim, as he pulled them up over his boxers and swear he saw his lover smile just a little bit.

–

Okay. A shortie, but a goodie (or at least I hope so) It was, as it says in the summary, a response to Lady Merlin's challenge to write about things Jim gives up for Spock. Check out her stuff, by the way, she's totally badass. Reviewers get cookies and lots of love, whether it's a simple 'I liked that!' or some constructive criticism, or even telling me you didn't like it. Whatev', it just inspires me to do better and keep writing, because people are actually reading. 3 Thanks!