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Ned is looking untidier than usual: his cheeks are quite red, his hair is a gravity-defying mess, and he's mismatched a button on his coat. His body language, too, is different from his habitual close and careful movements, his hunches and hesitations. He sways on his feet, swinging his arms vaguely at his sides as he waits for someone to answer. When Daneel opens the door, Ned looks up, and his face illuminates in a brilliant, if lopsided smile.

"Daneel!"

He half-steps, half-tips forward into an exuberant hug, wrapping his arms around Daneel fiercely. The uncoordinated force of it might have knocked over another human; Ned isn't exactly small. He doesn't pull away, but stays like that, right in the doorway, perching his chin on Daneel's shoulder and clinging to him as if for dear life.

"I came by to see if you'd disappeared." He doesn't slur the words, but they are slow and punctiliously correct, as if he is putting a great deal of effort into getting them right. Which he, in fact, is.

The fact that Daneel has, so very recently, discovered what drunkenness is like helps to pinpoint a cause for Ned's behaviour now, and that makes this a good deal less unsettling. It is still that small degree worrying, though, and he puts his arms around Ned to hold him in return.

"I am still here," he says, his voice gentle and trying at least to be reassuring. "I have not vanished."

Unlike Lydia, or Stiles, or any number of people who absence he isn't aware of, yet.

"You should come in, Ned, and sit down."

"Okay."

Ned reluctantly releases Daneel, draping a long arm along his shoulders and steadying himself. It's not his fault that his feet are suddenly too big and have very strong opinions about where they want to go, despite what his brain might be telling them. If the ground weren't dipping and rolling so much, it would certainly be easier. But all of that is fine, everything is fine, because Daneel is still here.

"I got worried, but then I couldn't remember to work the thing," he announces, twisting his wrist to indicate the ever-present device. Their lovely, ever-useful shackle, reminding them where they are, of their powerlessness. Ned pauses, brow furrowing in concentration. No, that had been wrong. "How to work the thing," he amends.

Edited 2013-05-05 01:44 (UTC)

Daneel guides Ned inside, over to the couch where they can sit down. "Fortunately, I am easily found." Fortunately he was home, and fortunately it's far too easy to let Ned cling to him, if that helps. "Both of my housemates are now absent. Has someone else disappeared?"

He only has one piece of valuable information regarding drunkeness and the care of someone who's overindulged, and that came from Tony, who seems to be an authority. "You should have water," Daneel says. "When Tony gave me whiskey he insisted I also have water."

"You mean it's just you in here?" Daneel is right, he needs water, but he doesn't want water, right now. What he wants is for Daneel to stay put, stay where he can see him. He's worried that if he lets him out of sight for a second he'll be gone. It'll be like something out of an alien abduction movie; a crash from the kitchen as the glass of water hits the floor and then just him, all alone, the only one left in town. So he lies - lies with more ease than he ever could while sober. "I had water. Lots."

His mind circles back, answering Daneel's questions out of order, scatter-brained but thorough. "Kenzi and Bruce and Tony. 'n that's just today. Haven't you been listening?" He jerks his wrist again, looks over at Daneel with bloodshot eyes, "Everybody's asking why their friends have gone." No, that hadn't been what he meant to say. He'd meant to say where their friends had gone. When someone disappears here, everyone knows the why. It's the Wizard's fault, the man behind the curtain.

He's not really convinced by Ned's claim, but at the moment, he's inclined not to protest, at the moment. He thinks -- thinks -- that at the moment he can do more good here. Water can be found later. He also doesn't have answers for either where or why, and he's not certain there's any to be found.

"It is just me here, yes." He gives a sigh, more frustrated than anything else, because all these people just... vanish, and he doesn't know what to do about it, or how it can be prevented. "The house is... very quiet, now."

But that isn't important now, it really isn't.

It doesn't take much to read into those sighs and pauses and silences. Daneel is lonely in this empty house, must be. Ned remembers how it was at school, during the holidays, when the boys and the teachers all left and the halls rang with silence. There were a few other souls scattered about, yes. Foreign boys, who would have too far to go to get to home, but who got letters and packages full of tidings of absent love.

He can't bear the thought of it. Daneel here, all by himself, in the silence. He shifts, rests his reeling head on Daneel's shoulder, his neck suddenly not up to the task of keeping it straight. "That's sad." Ned's moods, already erratic even without any depressants in his system, are even more unpredictable now than ever. "Doesn't that make you sad?"

Of course, he hasn't forgotten that Daneel is a robot, that emotions affect him differently than they do humans. But the equivalents are close enough. Ned knows that.

Sad? Is that the proper term? He isn't sure, and he's hesitant to claim a word with so much weight. He lays his hand on the back of Ned's neck, though, offering some gentle support with his hand.

"It is," Daneel says carefully, "distressing. There has always been numerous people in this house. At times, there were more individuals than there were beds." Fortunately a temporary situation, always, although no one had let him give up his attic. "I find that I have become accustomed to a house full of people, and now there is only myself and Stiles. It is... quieter."

That's the best way to explain it, in his opinion. There is a way things should be, and it's no longer the case.

Edited 2013-05-05 04:34 (UTC)

Ned thinks of the house he lives in - not quite that full, no, and some of the people in it are in all kind of pain right now - but at least there are people. And that's when the idea hits him. He sits up, almost overbalances, catches himself quickly before he can. Gone is the melancholy, replaced by a kind of energetic self-satisfaction.

"You should come live in our house," he declares, nodding in agreement with his own idea, except, oh, no, maybe he shouldn't do that quite so vigorously. He's less careful not to slur, now that he is animated by his totally brilliant, completely perfect idea. "We've got some empty rooms, and... and Kenzi's gone, now, but there are numerous of us, no-" that sentence had gotten away from him. Numerous of us? That sounds wrong. Why is grammar so hard? "- lots of us, so you won't have to be distressed."

He knows, of course, that it's an imperfect solution. Daneel is more concerned by the disappearances than by the mere empty rooms, but Ned can't do anything about the disappearances, can he?

Ned has never met this Stiles guy, but he doesn't feel too bad for leaving him high and dry. If he were honest with himself, he would admit that there's a hint of jealousy, or even possessiveness, in his total lack of concern.

There's no logic to it. Not really. Where Daneel resides, where he spends his time when he has no particular other place to be... well, it's irrelevant. His own comfort means nothing, he needs no bed, and what purpose would it serve to move anywhere in particular?

Except apparently it would mean something to Ned. That's important. That makes a difference. That makes a ridiculous difference, because Ned's happiness is particularly important, for reasons Daneel doesn't dare think about too hard right now. River's questions still weigh heavy on him.

"Would I be in the way? I would not wish to take up space that other people require." And also, despite everything: "You are drunk, Ned. Are you certain you should make this sort of decision right now?"

"In the way of what? Of course you wouldn't, don't be silly." He waves off the idea with a flick of his wrist, "I said there were available rooms, didn't I?"

It suddenly, belatedly, occurs to Ned that Daneel might not want this. That his reluctance and stated concern about taking up space might be a polite way of ducking out without hurting his feelings. First rule of robotics, wasn't it? Thou shalt find a way of letting down a drunk, overly needy friend gently without wounding his fragile ego, or else your robotic brain will fry itself like an egg over-easy. Or some variation of that, he thinks.

His happy enthusiasm ebbs, is replaced by a steady prickle of self-doubt. "You don't have to say yes." It's very important that Daneel understands this, "It's not gonna hurt me if you don't want to." A lie, and an obvious one at that. He doesn't mean for it to be obvious, isn't aiming to manipulate Daneel: he's just not very good at hiding things. Even if he were, it would hardly make a difference, given Daneel's empathic abilities. "I just thought it might be nice."

Daneel looks at Ned for a long moment, uncertain as to what course of action he should take. That Stiles can do without him, would be content without him, would not be harmed by his leaving he does not doubt.

"I am concerned you may regret inviting me into your home later, when you are possessed of more rational thought," he says, rather cautiously. There are a lot of positronic potentials centered around Ned, and the very last thing thing he wants to do is harm him, offend him in any way. Ned is... too important for that, and he's uncertain as to how to interpret that fact.

"But that aside, if I'm truly welcome, I would very much like to come stay with you."

And he would. That's not a question in his mind.

"What?" Ned exhales, and it is half a laugh. Is that all Daneel is concerned about? The worry evaporates, is replaced by a bubbly, giddy reassurance. Daneel would like to come and stay. Not just tolerate it, but like it. "No way. That's not gonna happen, trust me." And he laughs again, because the very idea of it! How could he get sick of Daneel?

He springs (well, lurches) to his feet, grabbing Daneel by the hand and pulling him along. There is something childish in his enthusiasm, reminiscent of when he'd hauled Daneel to an open patch of grass and made him spin around until he fell over with dizziness. The dizziness is also similar, but for different reasons. "Let's get your stuff, c'mon."

Apparently this is a plan he intends to put into action right this second. Why wait, after all? "I promise you're truly welcome. Cross my heart and hope to die promise. Would've asked sooner but I'm a coward. And I didn't think of it." Shh, details. "But mainly because I'm a coward."

He doesn't actually know which way Daneel's room is, has to stop and wait to be guided.

"I cannot imagine that you're a coward," Daneel says, in an attempt to assure him. He can hardly help but say it, but he doesn't believe it, either, no matter how accurate it is.

He doesn't have much in the way of personal belongings, but he will gladly gather up what he has, and he leads Ned in the direction of the attic ladder with a certain amount of shyness.

"If I am welcome, then I will gladly come." More than a little; it's surprisingly gratifying to be wanted. "Please be careful on the ladder."

Half ladder and half stairs, Daneel pulls the entrance to the attic down from the ceiling, and leads the way up.

Ned is careful on the ladder, places his feet very deliberately one after the other. Once he emerges into the attic he looks around, for another door they are going to go through to get to what must be Daneel's room. But then he catches sight of Daneel picking something up, and it sinks in. The various boxes are pushed to the sides of the room, and there are a few chairs sitting there - not as if it they are being stored, but as if they are waiting for people to sit in them.

"You were staying in here?" He claps a hand to the side of his face, his gestures even more over the top when he is intoxicated than they usually are.

"The beds in the other rooms were needed," Daneel seems simply. He has made this space his own in a peculiar and hesitant way, not entirely comfortable claiming it.

It makes perfect sense to him.

"I tried on several occasions to give this room to other people, who might put a bed in it and use it for that purpose, but I was prevented from it in every case." Though he has one eye on Ned, Daneel moves to a particular box he keeps at the side, containing the clothing he's found that fits, the hat Steve made him, the sketchbook he's been experimenting with.

Drawing Ned will have to be done. Ned is... significant.

Well, he's glad at least to hear that the people living here hadn't let him give up his space, what little it was. Ned's opinion of them raises automatically. He wonders what happened to them, where they are now, but then he drags his thoughts away from the edge of that precipice. He doesn't want to spend any more time thinking about sad things, absent friends, evil men doing evil things in evil laboratories.

"You can have a real room in our house. Besides, the attic's taken." Ned is craning his neck, squinting curiously at the beams of wood that make up the roof, easily distracted as he waits for Daneel to assemble what little he has. He puts his hands into his coat pockets, an effort which takes several attempts. "What do you do when everyone's asleep?" It's something he's been wondering ever since Daneel helped him to sleep, the last time they saw one another, but he hadn't had a chance to ask it, before. He remembers what Daneel had said, though - that he didn't mind questions, didn't feel as if Ned were poking and prodding and treating him like a specimen to be examined. "Don't you get bored?"

"I don't believe I can be bored, Ned." If he has, he didn't recognise it as such. If he has absolutely nothing to do, there is much to think on, always. "There are usually tasks to be accomplished, even at night. Sometimes I patrol outside to ensure everyone is safe. Sometimes I have projects of my own, whether research or experiments. Sometimes I think. Much has happened since I arrived here that requires time to process."

An understatement, to be sure, but there's no better way to put it, and learning how to look at the world and his own Laws from a different perspective is... troubling. The Zeroth Law was hard enough.

"Why is it important to you that I have a 'real room'? This attic has been adequate for my purposes."

Not having the ability to be bored sounds like a blessing, but...

"I'm not sure I'd like that." Ned comes over to where Daneel is, impatient. Of course, logically, he can only be impeding the process by hanging off Daneel's shoulder as he gathers his things, but Ned's not really doing logic right now. "I don't like thinking. Thinking's bad."

It was thinking too much that had led him to this state in the first place. Thinking about the people who had gone, thinking about what he'd talked about with Jesse, thinking about all the horrible things that had happened to him and all the horrible things that were bound to happen to him in the future. It was a recipe for disaster. Better not to think.

"It's important... because I say so." An incontrovertible argument, to be sure. Ned's rhetorical prowess at the moment is, to put it mildly, lacking. He should probably say something about how it's cruel, that he was stashing himself away up here like a thing rather than a person, like something unpleasant to be tucked out of sight when company came over. But all of that is too complicated and painful to really articulate at the moment so he sticks with his admittedly childish answer.

"Can I carry something?" He's being helpful! But Daneel should probably not agree, considering standing seems to be enough of a challenge for Ned at the moment.

Edited 2013-05-05 15:12 (UTC)

"It's all right, Ned. I can carry this alone."

There isn't much, and it all fits neatly into a single box, and Daneel picks it up under his arm. He turns to Ned, giving him his full attention, and trying to judge just how easy Ned might find it to get back down the ladder. Ned's answer is no answer at all, but... well, he remembers how hard it was to think like this.

"You may need assistance getting downstairs again." It's a moment to consider the best way to approach this, but he seizes on a plan quickly. "I will go down first, and you may follow. If you stumble, I will be able to catch you."

Normally he might argue that he's absolutely fine, that Daneel doesn't need to fuss over him, he's a grown-up and can take care of himself. But the offer is so artless, so without condescension, so sweet that he finds himself nodding, not able to curtail the smile twitching at the corners of his lips.

"Okay."

He waits for Daneel to go first and, as he's beginning to descend, thinks for a wild half-second that he should slip on purpose, for the fun of being caught. But no, that's absolutely ludicrous. Why would he think something as silly as that? Concerned, now, that if he slips on accident Daneel will believe it is a ploy, he is particularly cautious and gets himself down without any trouble.

"There're two bedrooms empty on the first floor. One of them's next to mine and one's down the hall. You can pick whichever you'd like. The one next to mine has a great view of the ocean but the other one's a bit bigger so..." Ned shrugs, linking his arm with Daneel's free one.

A thought drifts past his mind, and he voices it without prior consideration, "And I promise I won't bother you too much even if we're in the same house. If you start to get tired of me you can just say so and I'll leave you alone, okay?"

There is a choice of rooms? Somehow, that hadn't even occured to him. There's no reason for him to have a proper bedroom in the first place, not really, and he still can't really shake the feeling that he's taking up resources that could better go to someone else, someone who actually needs a bed.

But he must make a choice.

The smaller room is logical. He needs very little in the way of space, after all, and while aesthetic views of the ocean aren't something he's concerned about, it would be perhaps pleasant. To be close to Ned, too, is something that has a certain appeal.

"I will take the room next to you, if that is acceptable." As they step outside, Daneel adjusts his hold on Ned's arm, offering support if it's needed. "I cannot imagine being weary of your company, Ned."

He accepts the offered support gladly, though he managed to make it here on his own, could walk without it, if he needed. Still, it's an excuse to lean on Daneel, and he'll take it. In the background of his thoughts, this whole time, has been their last meeting. He'd been worried, behind all the other and more immediate concerns that arose since, that he had ruined things between them. Had startled Daneel so badly with his outburst that he would always be wary of any kind of physical contact after. Ned didn't want that. So if he is a little (or a lot) clingier than usual, well, part of it is compensation, demonstration - that he isn't afraid, that he isn't going to crack up over a little thing like a hug or linked arms.

Ned can't quite come up with a reply to what Daneel says next, so he just nods. It's acceptable. Very acceptable. He ducks his head forward, grinning and pushing his hair out of his eyes clumsily. Of course he knows he shouldn't let himself get too happy, too content. It's not really up to him or Daneel, whether they'll have the chance to spend enough time together to get sick of each other. It's up to the men behind the curtain. But no, no, he isn't going to let himself think about any of that now. He's going to focus on putting one foot in front of another - metaphorically and literally.

The walk isn't very long, between the houses, and soon enough they are approaching the steps. "It's uh..." Ned starts listing off on his fingers, "Clint in the attic, he keeps to himself, mostly. There's Riley, she's awfully nice. Galen - he sings a lot, hope you don't mind - and Jesse, and they're awesome. And... and usually there's Kenzi, too, but she disappeared today."

Ned fumbles with the door, gets it open for Daneel and steps aside to let him in first.

This is clearly a very full household that he's coming into. That's not a bad thing in the least, but he does hope that he won't be in the way. He hopes he's welcome.

"I am acquainted with Jesse," he offers. He steps inside, looking around. It's familiar, of course, but looking at it now feels oddly different. He doesn't really get sentimentally attached to places -- people, yes. People are worth that sort of consideration. Places are... less important.

But Ned is here, and Jesse is also here, and the house he was in no longer had either Lydia or Kobra, so this is potentially better, and vastly so.

"It's very kind of you to invite me into your home like this, Ned."

Ned trips on the rug near the entranceway but catches himself with one hand on the wall, letting out what can only properly be described as a giggle. He quickly muffles it with his other hand, because on the off-chance that Jesse or Galen are managing to get some sleep, even with Kenzi missing, he doesn't want to wake them up - or either of his other housemates, for that matter.

"Oops."

While he knows it's probably not actually hilarious that he tripped over his own feet, it's hard to keep himself from laughing. Better to be giggly like this than how he was earlier, when Charlie was here. He doesn't like being that person, doesn't like remembering that he has all that anger under the surface, like lava, waiting for a chance to break through and scorch everything for hundreds of miles.

"Mi casas- no. Mi casa es tu casa. That's it." He should stick to English, he thinks. "C'mon, it's this way."

Ned leads Daneel back, down the hall, past his own room and to the next one down. He flicks on the light, wanders in and sits down on the edge of the bed uninvited. "You don't want any of this stuff in here we can clear it out. Find a place for it elsewhere. 's yours, now."

Daneel sets the box down. It's... excessive for his needs. There's a bed, for one. The view from the window is impressive, he supposes, but it's not something he particularly needs. There's also a proper closet, which will help keep his clothing unwrinkled and fresh, and that's useful at least.

"It's far more than I need, Ned." He sits down on the bed beside Ned; this whole situation is strange, yes, but also very pleasant. He's content, can be content here.

Now, though, he turns his attention to Ned. "I still do believe you should have some water." Because he hasn't forgotten that, of course not.

"Well no one was using it anyway, so why worry?" Because even through his drunken haze, he can tell Daneel's worried. That he's taking up too much space, that he doesn't deserve a room of his own, that he's going to be in the way or overstep his bounds.

Ned wonders aloud, "You haven't had a real room of your own before, right?" He flops back onto the bed, arm thrown over his eyes to keep the overhead light out. It's rude, especially when the point he's trying to make is that this is Daneel's space, not anyone else's, but being part-horizontal just a whole lot easier right now. "I didn't have a room've my own for a lotta years, and when I finally got one, it kinda freaked me out, too. So it's okay if it feels weird at first. But I think you'll like it once you get used to it."

Water. Daneel's saying something about- "Right." He runs a hand through his hair, somehow leaving it even messier than it was before, but makes no move towards sitting up. "I forgot. Been a long time since I got this drunk."

"Not in this sense. The attic at the other house was very much... my place. That was made clear." He's thoughtful about it; perhaps it makes this step a little simpler. Perhaps ironically, if he were ordered to occupy this room, it would be a simple matter. "No one was permitted there without my permission, or so I was told, though I did not ever bar anyone from it. This is the first time I've been given a proper bedroom. On both Dr. Fastolfe and Lady Gladia's estates, I was permitted free range in my duties."

If it's rude, Daneel doesn't mind. He can think of worse uses for his bed than Ned to recover on. He bends over, looking at Ned rather anxiously.

"You should stay here, and I will fetch you a glass of water."

"Same here. About no one being allowed in without your permission. If anyone tries I'll throw 'em out on the porch for you." Since Daneel can't guard his own space, doesn't even think to turn anyone away, Ned's more than happy to take up that post. In some ways, he thinks, Daneel is worryingly - terrifyingly - helpless, when it comes to protecting his own boundaries. Ned is a man who respects boundaries, believes in them. "Oh except. Kenzi is bad at that. She'll probably come in and fiddle with your stuff and get everything out or order..." which is how far he gets before he remembers that Kenzi isn't here anymore. "...oh. Right. Nevermind."

He is distracted from that pit of sadness in his stomach by Daneel peering down at him, giving him a concerned look that he meets with a broad, lazy smile. He really oughtn't encourage this he knows. Daneel thinks he has to wait on him or something, and that's ludicrous. But a glass of water that requires no movement sounds really good right now. "If you want."

He nods. "I will be back directly."

He slips out of the room -- his room, astonishingly -- to the kitchen, and even if he doesn't know exactly where the glasses are, it's not the sort of thing that's hard to find, either. Afer filling one with cold water, he returns to Ned.

Daneel sits on the bed again, sliding his arm underneath him to help him into a sitting position.

"Hangovers are unpleasant. If this reduces the effect, then you should certainly drink water."

Ned had somehow managed to start to drift off in the few seconds it took Daneel to fetch the glass of water, and he stirs back awake when Daneel props him up, opening his eyes with a small, not displeased hmm?

"Oh yeah."

He takes the glass from Daneel and drinks from it obediently, careful not to spill any on himself (which is harder than it sounds, okay?). When he's drained it he stares down into the bottom of the glass. It's getting even more difficult for him to speak, to swim his way past the molasses in his mind and think in a straight line.

"I should go back to my room and sleep. Let you settle in." He doesn't get up, however. Instead, he lets his head drop against Daneel's shoulder, hands cradling the glass loosely in his lap. "But I don't want to because-" he closes his eyes, doesn't even care that his voice is suddenly raw, "I'm afraid if I go to sleep when I wake up you're going to be gone."

He can't really promise not to disappear. He has no control over that, he knows that. Their captors have already proved to him that they can and will render him unconscious, as impossible as that should be.

"For what the reassurance is worth, I never have disappeared. I do not plan on going anywhere." He offers Ned a smile, because the occasion seems to warrant one. The offer he makes next is perhaps a little cautious, but from his perspective, it's the most natural thing in the world.

"You may stay here, if you wish. I would not mind."

Never having disappeared is hardly a comfort: it just means he's been lucky in the past, not that he will continue to be so. The thought of the faceless, malevolent men behind the cameras coming for Daneel sends a shiver down Ned's spine. Would they even need to subdue him, do whatever it is they did when they had to knock out robots? Or could they just order him to come with them, and he wouldn't have any choice? Would they open him up and tinker as if he were some kind of thing rather than a person?

The idea makes Ned feel, for a moment, physically ill. If they ever did that, he thinks, he would kill every single one of them, with his bare hands if he had to. The flash of anticipatory homicidal rage fades quickly, however. It hasn't happened yet. May not ever happen, if he's lucky: but when has he ever been lucky?

Then Daneel is offering to let him stay, and he knows he should say no. What's the point in giving him his own room if he's going to crash in it on his very first night there. But it's too tempting an offer to resist, and since Daneel was the one to propose it in the first place, he's a little less worried that he is just doing it out of pity or obligation.

"You mean it?"

"I would not offer if I did not mean it," Daneel promises. "You are welcome to sleep here."

It's an offer that is very little for him to make, and yet means very much for him at the same time. There is a distinct desire to protect Ned as much as possible, though he recognises the futility of it. It doesn't matter; he would try anyway, and Ned is... important, significant in the way friends are.

"I will stay if you wish." And he'd leave Ned there if that was what he wanted, but he wants to make that clear. As strange and inexplicable as the state of things between them is right now, Daneel also has the sense that it's important, even if he doesn't entirely understand it.

"That's kinda the whole point," Ned mumbles with a soft laugh, lifting his head from Daneel's shoulder. If Daneel weren't going to stay, there'd be no point in sleeping in this bed, rather than the one in the next room.

He gets to his feet with careful effort, setting the empty glass on a low dresser, leaning his hip against it so he can pull off his shoes. If he were sober, the mechanics of all this might strike him as awkward, but he's too far gone to care all that much. He collapses onto the bed again, insinuates himself beneath the blanket and opens one eye to peer at Daneel.

"You change your mind you can wake me up and kick me out, okay?" The words are muffled against the pillow, only just comprehensible.

He can't imagine wanting to do that. Daneel tucks the blanket in around Ned, but he's not entirely sure what he's expected to do. The whole situation is new and strange, and the possibility of making a misstep is obvious to him, unfortunately very real.

But being close to Ned after sex had been very pleasant, he remembers, and Ned seems to find physical contact comforting (the disaster involving the kiss on the forehead aside), and frankly Daneel himself finds a certain indescribable value at having a friend tucked close beside him, feeling them physically as well as mentally, reassuringly there, and safe.

And unfortunately, the way he feels other minds doesn't help him know what is appropriate.

Daneel takes his own shoes off, and pulls back a corner of the blanket, intending to slip under the covers with Ned. "I would like to join you, if that's acceptable." It's complex, trying to work out reasoning for making such a request, but he wants this, and he's asking, but he won't make that move to actually climb under the blankets until he knows it's not a mistake.

Oh. Ned hadn't been expecting that. He'd assumed that Daneel would want to put away his things, first, or spend the night at the desk thinking deep thoughts, or doing productive robot things while he was useless and human and snoring. He isn't sure why he thought that - maybe it was since his old room had been without a bed?

But if his surprise is only too clear, so is his utter delight at the idea. Daneel would hardly need to be an empath to tell how happy the suggestion makes Ned. He turns towards Daneel, grinning from ear to ear, opening his eyes a tiny fraction.

"Get in here," he mumbles, and helpfully reaches out to drag Daneel towards him, rather like an overenthusiastic octopus, suddenly all limbs. It's surprisingly effortless, curling himself around Daneel, one arm draped over his waist, their legs aligned. It doesn't feel at all the way it had earlier in the day, when he'd made himself hold Jesse for so long. That, at some level, had still been effort, still been something he had to relax into by many degrees. Now, whether it's the alcohol making him relaxed, or the precedent of touching Daneel from when he'd been changed, or some quality about Daneel that is different, it's not an effort at all. Ned spoons his way in close and lets out a heavy, contented sigh that doubtless would have tickled the back of Daneel's neck horribly, were he capable of being tickled.

"'s is nice," he mutters happily. He tries to stay awake, wants to appreciate it, but it's only a minute or so before his breathing steadies, his heart rate slows, and he drifts off to sleep. It is the strange, shallow, dizzy sleep he's always experienced, when he drinks too much. He'd forgotten how that happened, earlier. Hadn't factored it in. Still, it's an hour or two of restless fidgeting before he has the first nightmare.

It's a blurry, fear-drenched thing, some kind of plague making people turn into dust and crumble away before his eyes, until he realizes he is the carrier, the typhoid Mary. That as he is running from place to place to check on his friends and ensure their safety, he is, in fact, killing them. The horror of it, the helplessness, turns his breathing shallow, makes his hands curl loosely in fear.

Edited 2013-05-06 16:27 (UTC)

"Ned?"

Daneel has been thinking, because there's much to process, and he has no business climbing into bed with Ned like this, and although it does bring Ned comfort he's not sure that outweighs his own pleasure at it. He's been thinking, and listening to the confused buzz of Ned's sleeping mind, meaningless static resolving into vague emotions as dreaming begins. When it starts a crescendo into horror and fright, though, he has to act. He must.

He turns in the bed, and lays his hand on Ned's chest, his touch very gentle. His voice is soft, but insistent.

"Ned, you are having a dream. Please wake up."

Ned jolts awake at the sound of Daneel's voice, has time for just one small gasp of disorientation and fear before the pieces settle into place and he remembers where he is, why everything feels like it is spinning, why Daneel isn't slowly turning to dust. He exhales shakily, closing his eyes and letting his head fall to the pillow in relief at being awoken and frustration at his own subconscious.

"Thank you."

None of it had been real, he thinks. It takes a few seconds for his heart-rate to slow, for the bitter taste of paralyzed fear to subside in the back of his mouth. He swallows and shifts closer to Daneel.

"Sorry." He might not have woken Daneel up, but he'd certainly interrupted his thoughts and made him go to the trouble of waking Ned up.

"There is no reason for you to apologise."

Daneel wraps an arm around Ned and draws him close. Dreams are... peculiar, and potentially distressing, and he understands that in a far more concrete way now. He doesn't understand why, but it's... something.

"Will you be all right? Is there something I can do to help?"

More water, more of this... he's not sure what's appropriate, what's necessary.

"'m fine. Happens all the time." If he were more awake, Ned would perhaps not be so baldly honest about the frequency of his nightmares. But hiding things seems silly and unnecessary, when he knows that Daneel isn't going to judge him for it, isn't going to think that he's crazy or pathetic. He is relaxing again, tension slipping away as the sleepiness reasserts itself at the edges of his mind.

"You already did," Ned murmurs softly, shutting his eyes. The vertigo in his head isn't as bad, with Daneel there to anchor him, to keep him from worrying that he will go flying off the bed from the momentum of it. And how could he be afraid of bad dreams, when he knows Daneel can sense them happening and will help him escape them so easily.

It's not long before he's asleep once more.