It takes Ned by surprise, how gut-wrenchingly sad it is, sitting beside someone and listening to them crying, not being able to do anything to help. That's one of the side-effects of being alone for so long. He never trusted the people around him, and so they never trusted him enough to let him be near them for things like this. He doesn't say anything, though. Words aren't going to do any good. He just bites his lip and waits, keeps rubbing Daneel's back until it stops shaking with sobs.

"They're very inconvenient," Ned agrees, voice a little thick. He clears his throat, says in a more steady tone, "It's a wonder we get anything done. Though it's probably worse for you, since you aren't used to them, whereas most of us have years of experience ignoring them, or controlling them, or working around them."

Then he adds, softer, "If it helps, you've just gotten a taste of one of the worst ones." Whatever name they want to call it - loss, sorrow, grief, heartbreak, maybe even regret. It's hard for Ned to say. "They aren't all so bad."