The temperature of the room had been maintained through the night and Spock woke easily and comfortably - he would not admit that he had calculated the odds of comfort and found them considerably lower as that would be to admit surprise
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It was not unpleasant. Fixing his boots even less so--he paused, caught control of his breathing, and stood.
He half-wanted to remain perched on the mattress edge, watching the slow, certain rise and fall of Nero's ribs, smudged to soft obscurity beneath both their coats, pulled close to keep him warm. Heis'he.
No. Waiting might wake him. It happened, sometimes, when he was too near and too wistful. Or Nero had always been a hard sleeper, but now it was brittle, erratic, and he needed the rest. Needed better care than Ayel could give him alone ( ... )
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Looking around, in fact, the whole room had been neatened.
"Good morning."
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Ayel blinked. Nodded hello and forced his shoulders to relax.
"'Morning," he answered, taking the indicated seat. "You wanted to speak with me?"
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"Two topics. I have considered how we might most efficiently proceed. And situational analysis indicates that you will be a more effective teacher for your Nero than will I. You will be required to learn not only the subject but also how best to teach it to him. Is this acceptable?"
Spock had been serious about teaching Ayel what was necessary. He would not spend his time simply waiting when that time could be spent in organized and productive fashion.
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