Don't worry, Jim. I won't let him pull the wool over my eyes, [ Claude says cavalierly, shooting a grin in Jim's direction. ] I'm used to that sort of attitude, and very rarely are they telling the truth about their own needs. Though I don't appreciate the fib, mister, [ Claude adds on, jabbing his thumb in Spock's direction.

All things said, Claude doesn't have the knowledge to call Spock out on anything he chalks up to Vulcan physiology. What he does know is basic psychology. To have some semblance of a schedule, to have time to recharge, refuel, to speak of something other than work is a matter of great importance. It's a matter that Claude himself neglects far too often, but unlike Spock, he has a staff that badgers him into taking his meals.

But unlike Claude, Spock has a Jim. So it all evens out in the end. ]

And it's Your Grace, thank you very much. Your Highness? Good heavens. The gentry would go into an absolute conniption to hear anyone call me Your Highness. There are no Kings in Leicester. Good thing too, because I can think of a thing or two I'd do with absolute power. Like convincing this one to take a little catnap every now and then.

You've got to nourish your minds alongside your bodies, boys. Sometimes, all a project needs are fresh eyes. [ He nods at them both. ] Eat.

[ Go on! Daddy's watching! ]