i woke up and he was screaming

It went without saying that Daneel knew Ned was loitering outside his door, and it was for a variety of reasons that he let him stay there. For one, if Ned were to change his mind about wanting company at all, opening the door now would force him into it. For another, he had a notion that spontaneously appearing when wanted was probably not entirely desirable.

So he waited, and moments after the soft knock on the door he opens the door. "Come in, Ned."

Ned slips in, shutting the door behind him carefully to avoid making any noise. The likelihood that it would awaken anyone, even if he slammed it, is small, but some habits linger. When he would have nightmares at boarding school, he often wandered out of his bed, but he had to be careful, and quiet, to avoid detection.

He stands just inside the door, arms crossed tightly over his chest, hunched into himself, curling his bare toes against the floorboards. There's no reason, perhaps, to be nervous, but he can't stop himself. His heart is still racing from the nightmare, a swirl of his hair stuck damply to his forehead.

Ned is actually wringing his hands. "I, uh- I was wondering if maybe I could..." he swallows, looks up at Daneel and then down again, feeling foolish, "if you'd mind if I slept in here for the rest of the night."

Edited 2013-05-17 03:48 (UTC)

This isn't a surprising request, but neither is it unwelcome. Ned's presence should be a good thing, pleasant and relaxing, but this sort of situation is anything but. Rather than send Ned away, the only thing to do is improve the situation.

"Of course you may, Ned." Watching Ned wring his hands like that is excruciating, and Daneel reaches out, gingerly, to clasp his own hands around Ned's. "You are always welcome to do so."

And he means it. If he doesn't sleep in his bed himself, then the least he can do is let a friend benefit from it.

Edited 2013-05-17 04:25 (UTC)

He halts the restless movement of his hands at once, huffing out a half-laugh. Ned didn't exactly expect Daneel to turn him away, but knowing for certain that he's allowed to stay is a relief. That tight coil of fear in the pit of his stomach starts to loosen, just from being in Daneel's presence. Bolstered, he takes a step closer and rests his forehead on Daneel's shoulder.

"Bad dream," it's barely a whisper, but Ned knows Daneel will be able to hear him. Of course, Daneel had probably guessed that. He might not be able to read Ned's mind like River can, but he can read enough.

"Will you... join me? Like last time?"

Edited 2013-05-17 04:37 (UTC)

"Yes, of course, Ned."

It's not an unpleasant idea to him, either, though in a way he feels vaguely guilty over. Intellectually, he knows it's neither fair nor possible nor right to protect Ned from everything that might trouble him, but this at least he can do.

Daneel puts his arm around Ned and draws him towards the bed. "Do you often have nightmares, Ned?"

There's no judgement there, only honest concern and careful curiosity.

It's nice, in a way, to just allow himself to be guided. He has the initiative to reach out and switch off the lamp, as they pass it, plunging the room into darkness. It's easier to speak, then; Ned isn't sure why. "Yeah." He accompanies the syllable with a shrug that Daneel can doubtless feel if not see. The sheets of the bed are cold, untouched. One more little reminder that Daneel wouldn't be using this bed, wouldn't be wasting his time in this way, if Ned weren't pathetic enough to want this from him.

"Actually, most nights." It's hard, to say those three words, but he does it, as he's setting his head down on the pillow. "The other day it occurred to me, I didn't know... your empathy thing. Didn't know if you could feel it through the walls. Hoped you couldn't."

Perhaps a lie would be comforting, but it also wouldn't be truthful, and the benefit doesn't outweigh the cost.

"Walls do not impede what I can feel, though distance does. I can often sense you in the next room, Ned, though not as strongly when you are closer." Daneel slips under the covers, the problematic questions of the situation made far more easy by the mere fact of being invited, and he puts an arm around Ned. "I admit your dreams trouble me, if they cause you such distress."

And he could make them go away, but is that fair? Is that right? He helped once, but would doing so every night take something away from Ned, some fragment of self-sufficiency and independence? Does he harm Ned more by allowing it?

"Sorry," Ned mutters, inching a tad closer. Bad enough that he can't seem to sleep through a single night, but his subconscious has found a way to reach out its tendrils and make Daneel uncomfortable, too. Perhaps he should have considered that earlier - he'd known about Daneel's powers, and his own susceptibility to nightmares. He had merely failed to put the two together, to realize that what was inside his mind alone might harm someone near him.

But at the same time there's something oddly warming, oddly romantic about that revelation, that Daneel can feel him from the next room over.

His eyes slowly begin to adjust to the darkness, so that he can see the outlines of things in the blue, pale light from the window. "They've been worse since..." He doesn't know what words to use for it. What one phrase can encompass everything that had happened, "Since we were changed." Ned doesn't think he has to explain why. He'd told Daneel - without any detail of course - that he'd been attacked, not just once, but repeatedly. His body had healed, and he'd doled out forgiveness left and right, but it isn't quite as simple as that.

But he wants to disspel Daneel's worry, not increase it, so he murmurs, "But it won't stay that way. It just takes time, and besides-" facing away from Daneel as he is, his smile won't be visible, but the sound of it infects his voice, "-how could I be distressed right now?"

"You needn't apologise for your own thoughts, Ned, particularly when you're asleep."

It's... reassuring, to have Ned tucked close against him, and happy about it, and Daneel would keep Ned close against him all the time if it were practical to do so, if it would make him happy. The pleasure wouldn't all be on Ned's side, either, but it's easier to justify when it isn't all about him. Selfish pleasure is uncomfortable.

"I must admit I'm glad to hear you say so, Ned. I greatly enjoy your company, and if you have trouble sleeping you are always welcome to stay here, like this."

"You better be careful, or I might take you up on that," Ned murmurs through a grin that he presses into the pillow, lifting his arm to lay atop Daneel's, weaving their fingers together. It is still a marvel to him, how easily he can touch Daneel. He isn't used to it; there is no automatic fear, no reflex of repulsion. He wonders if Daneel can feel it, every time - the nervousness, before, and the wonder, after.

Try as he might, he cannot force his mind to settle down. The adrenaline from the nightmare is still in him, and after keeping his eyes closed for a few minutes, he gives up with a small sigh. He is too awake to sleep.

"So many new people, today."

Daneel lets his fingers tangle with Ned's, holding his hand and marvelling at how important such a small gesture is. Perhaps at some point he can work out how to explain how significant it is to Ned, but he'd have to work it out himself, first.

At any rate, lying here with Ned is good, and lying here with him and talking is better.

"Unfortunately, yes." The arrival of more people into this prison troubles him greatly, but there's little he can do besides introducing himself and offering what help he can. All the same, this offers him an opportunity to discuss something with Ned that's been troubling him a little. He treads carefully on the subject, though, giving Ned's hand a friendly, reassuring squeeze. "Ned, if I may ask something," he begins, and falls silent.

It's difficult to raise an objection against anything Ned does.

"Though I appreciate your defending me, it isn't necessary." Daneel speaks very softly, very hesitantly. "I'm not unused to dealing with individuals who do dislike robots. There's no need for you to try to protect me.

Ned hears the hesitation, as Daneel works himself towards voicing his concern. They may have different reasons for it, but he recognizes that reluctance, respects it and listens with extra care as Daneel says his bit. He finds that it is not a question, at all. His heart aches at those words, 'not unused'. He wishes Daneel could find it in himself to just be defended, to think of himself as someone who mattered enough to warrant protection.

Returning the faint squeeze he takes a moment to compose his thoughts before he answers, "It was necessary for me, Daneel. It might have sounded like I was speaking selflessly, defending you from prejudice, but that wasn't what was happening at all. I did it for myself. I was defending myself from what she said."

He is grateful for his ever-increasing knowledge of the Laws, of the way they govern Daneel's thoughts. It makes it easier for him to explain. "When you see a human harmed, it hurts you, doesn't it? You can feel it. But that isn't just for robots. When you were a human, and I told you..." he hesitates here, hates himself for it, "...that I'd gotten hurt, that made you feel bad, too, didn't it?"

Ned remembers that concern, the intensity of it. How Daneel had checked to see if he was whole and healthy. What it had led to. It returns the smile to his voice, "It was like that for me, when I heard her say what she did. I thought she was from your time, actually. I remembered what you'd said about the way robots are treated and how people had tried to hurt you, and it scared me. If anything were to happen to you... it would do a great deal of harm to me." Ned pulls their knitted hands close against his chest. He can't let himself think about that as a real possibility. Not right now.

Daneel spends a moment thinking about this. That Ned had suffered was very troubling, and there were no Laws that demanded that then: merely that Ned is a friend, and he had suffered, and it was deeply, deeply terrible.

So Ned is right. What he says rings true. It makes every sort of sense and yet... yet, there's a hurdle to get over. His own well-being should not be directly linked to the well-being of a human; it makes his own existence surprisingly important, and it's strange in the way his relationship with Giskard was, near the end. But that was... so very different from this, in a million tiny ways. It's more complex. It's harder to grasp.

Daneel spreads his palm over Ned's chest, feeling his heartbeat. "The man who tried to hurt me was an exception. Most would not think I'm worthy of that much attention." It's an excuse, a reassurance, but it's a weak one and beside the point and he knows it. "Ned, I have been thinking of something lately that pertains to this. I have no one here who is fully versed in the implications of the Laws and how they affect me, but I would like to speak to you of my ideas, if you would allow me."

It is both reassuring and infuriating, to hear that humans on Earth thought Daneel beneath murder. He'd like to think it made him safer, in the end. Only in Ned's knowledge of human beings and human history, thinking of a category of people as less than human doesn't stop the violence, but increases it. All it does is change the words used: not words like murder, but words like cleansing.

He likes the way Daneel's hand feels, pressed over his heart, covers it with his own to keep it there.

"Of course. I'd be happy to."

It's not often that Daneel asks for anything - to say the very least - so that, when he does, Ned is quite eager to do whatever he can, to help. He's not only willing to help Daneel talk through his thoughts, but actually, actively pleased that he can be useful. He stops himself from saying that he never wants Daneel to feel that he has no one for anything, that he can ask for whatever, whenever. But now's not a time for him to talk, but to listen.

Daneel pauses for a moment or two before he begins, picking his words carefully. This is a subject which is uncomfortable for him to think about, much less speak aloud, and he wants to be clear in what he's saying.

"Much of the Three Laws depends upon the definition of what is 'human,'" he says at last. "A human is a member of the species homo sapiens, regardless of ancestry. There are many physiological differences between Spacers and Earthers, but they are still the same species. They are descended from the same ancestors, they could interbreed if it wasn't impractical to do so. They are both human." So far, so good. That's the easy part. "Yet, a problem I have repeatedly faced while here is that many individuals here are not human. Those who made me did not anticipate that I would ever have to deal with any such entity. I do not know how to categorise them. I have been letting them stay outside the Laws: if not a threat, then an ally, but not human, not robot, but Other."

Still on comfortable ground. Just keep going.

"But I have been speaking with Erik, recently. He is descended from humans, but considers himself something other than human, a mutant. He has created for himself a new category and classed himself as Other. He would be, I believe, greatly offended if I were to call him human. As far as the Three Laws are concerned, I could classify him as human regardless, and he would not need to know, but it raises questions. The definition of 'human' is..."

And here, his voice trembles just a little.

"It is open to some interpretation."

Hearing that tremble in Daneel's voice sets off a spark of worry in Ned's chest. All of this is so important to Daneel, to his basic safety and well-being, in a way that it would not be to a human... or rather, to an organic life-form. Conceptual categories aren't just useful to Daneel, they are necessary. Even thinking about redrawing the lines around them is a serious thing, a delicate thing. Ned wishes fervently that knew more about robots, or for that matter, about mutants.

He begins tentatively, distantly.

"None of it is set in stone, though, is it? It was never a perfect system. I mean, even homo sapiens is really just a pair of words decided on by certain people, at a certain point in history, to give themselves a name. The boundaries around it are invented."

Ned's voice is low; in the darkness, it seems almost as if it is coming from somewhere else, if something or someone else is producing the sounds that come together as words, disconnected in the air.

"And those boundaries get complicated when you factor in people like Erik, and River, and... and people like me. I'm a mutant, too. I don't know whether or not I'm human." He could lie, could say he was certain one way or another, but doubtless Daneel would sense that deceit in him. Besides, he wants to be honest with Daneel. Daneel deserves that, from him. "I was never really sure, growing up. What I was. My parents were humans. I looked liked a human. But human beings can't give and take life with a touch. I can."

He takes his hand away from Daneel's and holds it in the air a moment, suspended, outlined by the thin blue light of the room. Of course, his powers are present in all of his body, but he's always deliberately thought of his hands as their locus. It is useful for him to do so. His hands he can control, more than any other part of him.

"Is this like... with the Zeroth Law? Do you think you could come up with your own definition, based on new factors, and evidence?"

"You are human," Daneel says, very decisively. The idea that Ned doesn't count as human is troubling to him, and if Ned counts as human, then certainly River and Charles and Erik do, whatever else they might have to say about it. "I'm not certain that unusual abilities make a difference. Robots do not possess telepathic abilities, nor the ability to adjust emotions, but I am still a robot."

This is the trouble. Accepting Ned as Other means he's of less account than a human being, and that cannot be. That isn't even a little bit acceptable. Ned is entirely too important in the first place.

Daneel reaches for Ned's hand again, grasping it in the air. Right now, he wants that contact between them. "But yes, this is exactly like my Zeroth Law. I don't know if I can come up with a working solution, but I feel that I must try. It's easy for me to justify you, or River, or Erik as human, even if it isn't the term you might prefer. It is relatively easy to classify 'mutant' as a subtype of human, as I might claim 'Spacer' is. Spacers may live hundreds of years, which might not be thought of as something typically human either." He gives a small sigh, though, as he nears the more troubling aspect of his argument. "Where this breaks down entirely is those individuals here who are not human nor even genetically related, angels and alien species for example. Do I claim that they are not worth equal consideration as someone of Earth descent?"

He frowns in the dark. "My programming inclines me to say yes, but I find that solution to be problematic. There was a time here when everyone here hallucinated, myself included though I don't see how it was possible. I believed in a conspiracy that did not exist, and suggested publicly that I would not hesitate to use force against non-humans who were plotting to harm the humans here." His voice is hushed, troubled, and he stumbles a little over the words. He isn't even sure he would have properly recognised someone who is or isn't human, at that point. "I would not have broken any of the Laws, perhaps, but I would not have been comfortable with my actions."

Unlike Erik, perhaps, Ned is more than happy to think of himself as a new subtype of human; he has never had cause to want to think of himself as Other. If he were given the choice to give up his powers, to live as a perfectly average human being, he would still take that chance, even now that he has found a community of others like him.

But now, it would seem, Daneel is coming to the real crux of the issue. It is not people like Ned who are causing him difficulty, but men like the Doctor. Aliens - or aliens pretending to be angels (he still refuses to believe, categorically, that any people in the Cape claiming to be angels could possibly be) - wouldn't be as easy to grandfather in as descended from humanity.

It fascinates Ned, that Daneel can be so skeptical of his own programming. That he recognizes the potential problems with it, wishes there were a way he could alter it. Perhaps it isn't all so absolute, so unalterable as he had thought (and if he's honest with himself, feared). If Daneel can recognize the flaws in the ways he thinks, perhaps it is possible that he could change, if he wants to - and from the sound of it, he does. Perhaps he could unlearn some of his bad ways of thinking, the way Ned has been trying to, slowly but surely, these past few weeks.

Ned can hear how hard it is for Daneel, telling him about what he'd said while under the influence of whatever it was their captors had done to make him hallucinate. He turns to face him, even though he can only dimly see the outlines of his features. The idea of Daneel threatening to harm anyone is difficult to wrap his head around. He's gotten so used to the idea of Daneel as non-violent - troublingly so, in fact. It must have hurt, Ned knows, after he was returned to his senses, to imagine what he might have done. Ned brings up his hand to Daneel's cheek, runs the pad of his thumb over one of his high cheekbones.

"You didn't, though. The people keeping us here..." he swallows, back against a sudden surge of hatred, "they made you think that way and talk that way to hurt you. They must've known that you wouldn't be comfortable hurting anyone, human or not, Laws or no Laws. Because you're a good person." There is conviction in his voice, spread evenly between the concept of goodness and the concept of person-ness. He shifts closer, touching their foreheads together.

But none of these reassurances, he knows are addressing the problem. Tentatively, he suggests, "Is that all that defines human, in your programming? Evolutionary descent? Perhaps... perhaps you could think of another sub-category. People who are humans through... parallel descent. Is that even a term? Should've paid more attention in biology. Can't two organisms, from entirely separate areas, evolve similar traits, without being technically related to one another?" For all he knows, this is a concept that is just springing from his imagination, alone; he'd spent many of his classes imagining variations on pie recipes, rather than attending to what he was being taught.

Daneel nods, almost imperceptibly. "This is a possible solution. I once encountered robots whose definition of human was very limited, to exclude everyone except from that one particular planet."

And it had been wrong, very wrong. It was something he never wanted to approach, except... this is from the opposite direction, isn't it? Does that make it acceptable?

"To expand my definition of humanity, however, may solve my problem. To define human as any sentient being, or as you put it, parallel descent, certainly would allow me to solve this problem. It does, however, have a peculiar side effect."

Daneel hesitates again, and turns to look at Ned. His face is expressionless, but he touches Ned's face, mirroring Ned's own actions. "I was human, for a time. Not merely in some alternate definition, but I was truly human. Though much was different about that experience, what remains of my own self... I believe that was unchanged, or so it seems to me. If I am to redefine humanity, then... where does this leave me?"

He doesn't know. He really doesn't know.

Edited 2013-05-19 04:57 (UTC)

Ned knows enough now about robotic programming that the idea of robots with such a narrow definition of humanity is troubling to him, as well. Those robots would be able to - compelled to - harm anyone from another planet if they believed them to be a danger to their chosen group of humans. Would be able to hurt or kill them with impunity.

It strikes Ned as a very human way of thinking, and not at all in a good way.

But that is not what Daneel is talking about, at all. What he's talking about is a more expansive understanding of who deserves to be important, respected, protected. Sentience, Ned thinks, sounds like a good alternative to specific evolutionary descent. Particularly if it means helping Daneel to reconcile what had happened, when he'd been turned human, and thus helping him see himself as important and worthy of respect, worthy of protection.

"It seems that way to me, too." When they had switched back to their normal selves, a tiny part of Ned had been terrified that he had lost something, when Daneel stopped being human. But that feeling had only lasted for about twenty seconds. Then it had been clear to him that it was just another baseless worry - that very little had even been altered. "Yeah, so a couple details about the packaging changed, but on the inside you weren't all that different, as far as I could tell. Can tell. You were still you."

A pause, then, as Ned smiles. No point trying not to, trying to hide the fondness that comes with that statement; Daneel would be able to sense it, regardless of his expression.

He only knows the tiniest bit about the Laws of Robotics, doesn't know how or even IF Daneel could incorporate an idea of himself as human with his programming. But what Ned does know are pies, and so he does what he thinks will help the most, and offers a metaphor.

"There are a dozen types of pie crust, did you know that? One crust, two crust, latticed, crumbled, graham cracker, with cinnamon and without, with honey and without, etcetera. And you can bake just about anything into a pie. Not only almost every kind of fruit there is, but all the combinations of all the kinds of fruit, plus all the combinations of all the kinds of crusts. And that's just scratching the surface. Not all pies have fruit fillings. Some have nuts, like pecans, or meringue. There are savory pies, with meat and vegetables, even though I don't really cook those - but the point is, they're all still pie."

And now he is coming to his point. He finds Daneel's hand in the darkness again with his own, wants to be holding this as he says this part. All this, he is imagines, is rather terrifying for Daneel. To have to grapple with his most basic definition of who and what he is, and how he interacts with the world around him.

"If you redefine human as any sentient being, it seems obvious to me where that leaves you - unless my working definition of sentience is way off. It leaves you as another subtype of human. I'm human with a side of mutant, and you're human with a side of robot?"

Metaphors are not an easy thing for Daneel to pick apart, and he has less experience with pie than with metaphors, but he's silent for a moment while he tries to process this idea. It's not an easy one.

"If I am human," he begins, and stops. A small spasm passes through him, but he holds tight to Ned's hand. It's an anchor for him. "If I am to be considered human, then--"

He has to stop. Justifying himself as human is, in itself, easy. How it affects the Laws, though, is more complicated, more problematic, but Daneel will force himself through this discomfort. He has to.

"Then my existence falls under the First Law."

That doesn't sound like much, maybe, but for him it's beyond significant. It changes everything. It makes him truly an equal, rather than just a robot who is treated as such. That's terrifying. It has more implications than he can even begin to approach.

Ned can tell how much this must mean: if not from his own understanding of how Daneel's brain works, then from the way he has been working up to this very idea for the last few minutes, from the way he stops and starts and responds physically to it.

"That's the one that says you can't hurt humans, right? Or let them get hurt by anything?" He might not recall the exact wording, but he knows the basic concept. "So, explain to me what that would mean, please." Ned can try to suss out the implications by himself, but he thinks it would be best to let Daneel explain something like this.

Besides, perhaps going over it out loud may help clarify the matter for him. Sometimes teaching is the best way to learn and understand. If Daneel has to make whatever is going on in his head right now make sense to someone like Ned, perhaps he will comprehend it better, afterwards.

Edited 2013-05-19 17:30 (UTC)

Again, a long hesitation before he speaks, trying to pick his words and sort out what he needs to say and how to say it.

"The First Law obliges me to put the lives of humans before my own existence. The Second Law, too, obliges me to put the wishes of others before my own existence. If I am to think of myself as a sort of human--"

The word slurs for him, and he pauses to let himself recover. Fortunately, he's nothing if not persistent, and this sort of work takes persistence, as well as perhaps a little bit of flexible logic.

"Then I must consider my own well-being as important as I do someone else's: yours, a stranger's. If I am ordered to do something that would cause me harm, I could refuse on those grounds alone, rather than having to determine another reason why it would be unwise for me to submit." On the face of it, it's not much to say, but for him... it's a complete reversal of how he's always been. He gives, he protects, he serves; he doesn't take, he doesn't lead.

After another long moment of silent recovery, Daneel tries to press a little further, his voice soft. "I have observed that I did develop positronic potentials that centered on friend Giskard as though he were human."

Ned doesn't say anything for a few seconds, much as he wants to burst out that, yes, yes, this is exactly why Daneel should think of himself as a human, must think of himself as a human. He's all too aware of the second law, of the fact that Daneel still, in so many ways, thinks of him as a superior. Rather than run the risk of thinking that his hope, his enthusiasm is some kind of order, he bites his tongue.

"So it is possible," Ned notes. If he could think of Giskard - or assign him the positronic potentials, or whatever - as a human, then he should be capable of doing so for himself. The only question is whether he should, whether it will be best for him, in the end.

It is at this moment that Ned remembers his conversation with Daneel a few days ago, about the challenges of his Zeroth Law. Will it be best for Daneel, to think of himself as human? Every ounce of Ned's intuition says it will, but he is also frightened. What if he makes the wrong suggestion? What if Daneel begins to try to see himself as human, but it makes him unhappy, or leads him to malfunction. Shut down, even? What if he hurts Daneel, unintentionally, just by saying the wrong thing, right now? His speech is already slurring, in that terrifying way, as if he's in pain. Is it right to encourage this?

But then, the other alternative is just as potentially horrifying. What if Daneel remains as he is, thinking that his well-being, as he puts it, is less important than even a stranger's? What if someone finds out that he can be ordered around and takes advantage of him, treating him like... like a thing, rather than a person? What if their captors are human, will seem human to Daneel, and order him to-

He stops the train of thought there, closing his eyes and letting out a slow breath.

"I keep trying to work it out," he admits, softly, "I don't know which option will be better for you, in the end, and I'm so scared I'll say the wrong thing. Times like this I wish I had a useful power like seeing into the future. Except that would probably be terrible, in its own way." A short, almost brittle laugh, "But... I have to say this. As far as I'm concerned, you are as important as anyone else. Human or mutant or alien. Objectively speaking. And subjectively speaking... you're enormously important. To me."

He pauses to swallow back the reflex of fear that brings on, because some part of his brain will probably always think like this - that caring about someone is a vulnerability, is opening himself up for pain. But he keeps going:

"I don't want you to make any decisions based just on what I think, but... I think it would be good. If you had the option to refuse. If you could choose. Having that choice doesn't mean always choosing selfishly, you know. Humans can still choose to put themselves in harm's way for things or people they think are important. Humans can change their minds and listen to someone else's suggestion, if they are convinced it's a good idea."

"But the idea that your life means less, or that you deserve to be compelled to follow orders-" Ned spits the word as if it were a sour thing. He struggles to find the correct word, to convey his abhorrence of the idea without implying he thinks it is Daneel's fault, or that he is in any way angry at him for being programmed as he was, "-it's... it's disturbing, to me."

Edited 2013-05-19 20:28 (UTC)

"It's what I am, Ned." Daneel is faintly apologetic. For all the obvious dislike his explanation of the Laws has met, for him it's just a natural extension of his nature. It's how he was made, how he has always been, and he knows no other way of being. There is nothing that strikes him as wrong about it. What feels wrong is the idea that he should count as human, that Giskard should have felt as important to him as a human.

Dr. Fastolfe had, certainly, been indulgent towards the robots of his creation, encouraging curiosity where another roboticist might not have, and Daneel had certainly always had a looser reign in particular just because of his own unique nature. Still, he has to doubt Fastolfe would have ever forseen this, or approved of it.

"Your opinion does matter to me in this, Ned, even if you don't have the expertise of a true roboticist. You are human, in every essential way. You are significant for me, as well, to say the least. While it is true I could be ordered to lie here with you, or coerced into it for fear of offending you, I choose this of my own will. That is an astonishing thing for me. It is... human. At the same time, it is certainly something of which I have always been capable."

For a moment, he's quiet again. "I can't say which resolution is the best one, but I must consider all options. In some ways this is more difficult than the Zeroth Law. The Zeroth Law is, in many ways, merely a corollary to the First. This will change everything, if I can do it at all."

"I know." Ned feels a pang of regret for going so far; it isn't his place to judge. He shouldn't let his own issues - his own recent hypersensitivity to even the thought of coercion and mental control - push him to make Daneel feel like he needs to ever apologize for what he is.

But that regret is swept away, temporarily, when Daneel calls him significant (to say the least), when he starts talking about how he is here because he chooses to be. He beams, has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing out loud in the sudden flood of radiant happiness. It's astonishing to him, too. That anyone would want such a thing with him, of all people. It's miraculous, that the two of them, even with their various circumstances, are both here.

"Well, if you do decide you want to try and there's anything I can do to make it easier, you'll ask me, won't you?"

It's astonishing just how happy that makes Ned, how such a little thing, and nothing less than the truth, can please him so much. Sometimes, that's all Daneel wants: just to make Ned happy, perfectly happy, as much as possible.

"I will, Ned. I admit I'm not sure what else you may be able to do besides listening when I need to speak of something troubling me, but your insight is valuable to me." And it is; there are things that are difficult for him to think of and easy for Ned, and the different perspective is valuable.

"I warn you," Daneel adds, "that this may take me some time. Perhaps I should gather other opinions. Differing perspectives may help."

"Happy to listen, though I agree, it might be a good idea not to just ask me. I'm afraid I'm a bit biased." He is, perhaps, too close to the issue to give Daneel the kind of abstract or objective advice that would help him in this process. Of course, Ned knows that anyone Daneel might talk to will be biased in their own way, but knowing that he won't be relying entirely and unilaterally on him is a relief. "Just be careful of the source, okay?"

"As as for taking some time," Ned continues, pressing the tip of his nose against Daneel's briefly before turning to lie on his back with a comfortable sigh, "I know how that goes. I've barely even started to think through this whole being a mutant business."

"Of course you are biased. It's inevitable that you would be, but your interest in me only increases the value your opinion has. I will attempt to adjust my judgement to account for your biases."

Such a funny thing a nose-touch is: intimate and pointless in the same way a handhold is, and just as valuable. Lying his side, he stretches out alongside Ned, one arm draped casually, protectively over him. For all his concern about lacking the proper feeling for this sort of relationship, for not being capable of it, there's a tenderness in his manner, an infinite amount of patience and compassion which he doesn't recognise in himself, if only because it's simply how he is.

"I am discovering that self-applied labels are far more important than I suspected," he says. "As a descriptor, how do you feel about the word 'mutant'? It isn't often I've heard it used in a positive manner."

Ned likes that Daneel stays close, the weight of his arm across his torso. It's still so new to him, this easiness and enjoyment of physical proximity. If this comfort, this contentment is even a tenth of how it feels for other people (normal people, his mind supplies), he understands why they were all so confused by his absolute need for space, his thinly-veiled fear of touch.

"They're very important. It's difficult, not having a name for what you are. It makes you feel invalid. As for mutant, no, it isn't usually used in a way that's complimentary. But I've used worse, to describe myself. Freak, most of the time. Abomination on bad days." He says this with a degree of calm, even nonchalance. After all, it's the truth. "The way I look at it, mutant has two advantages. First, it's scientific. If I'm a mutant, that means I can do what I can do based on some slight variation in my genetic code. That makes sense to me. It's a lot more acceptable than any sort of magical or religious explanation."

When his mind seeks out religious explanations and language to describe his powers, it's a sure sign that he's not in a particularly good place, emotionally speaking. He always recognizes this, after the fact, but he's usually too distraught to notice it in action at the time.

"Second, it's shared. Erik was the one who first introduced me to it, but Charles describes himself the same way, and River, and maybe others. It makes me... part of a group. I'm the only one in my own world, at least as far as I'm aware, who is like this. Being a mutant means not being the only one, any longer."

The need for scientific explanations over magical or religious Daneel understands very well; he likes, needs that just as badly. There's a logic, then, in 'mutant' over other terms.

"Logically, it's far more likely that there are others like you in your world," Daneel offers, "even if you're not aware of them, though a single instance isn't impossible. You choose, though, to define yourself by your difference rather than by your similarities, which greatly outnumber the differences."

But then, he's always known exactly what he is: he's a robot. He was given that label early on, he's never doubted it, and even now that he questions his definitions that label isn't invalid, merely incomplete.

"It's very easy for me to merely consider you human, with a difference. It would be easier for me to settle on that, in fact." Daneel is alert, entirely focused on Ned. "But is this more comfortable an identity for you? I understand that a sense of belonging is very important."

"That was what I thought. It's like when people assume Earth is the only planet with life, out of all the planets in all the galaxies in all the universe. Just seems statistically unlikely, doesn't it? And a little selfish, too. So I spent years looking around, seeing if I could find any trace of other people like me, but there was nothing. If they were out there, I was never going to find them."

What did it matter, for him, if there were others out there in his world with hidden powers, if he was never going to meet with them or speak with them? They might as well not exist. Here, things are different. It's a closed system full of strange people who can do strange things. There are exceptions, of course, but the rule here seems to be outcasts.

"And... and despite what I just said about how good it is to have a scientific explanation, there's still plenty about what I can do that doesn't make sense to me. Scientifically, or logically. I wish it did, but it doesn't."

He sighs, pushes a strand of of hair from his eyes. Ned doesn't mind so much what Daneel considers him, categorically speaking, so long as he considers him significant. But at the same time, it feels important to press upon him how central all this is. Not a footnote to his life story, but the very language in which it is written.

"As for why I define myself by the one difference, when there are a hundred similarities, it's because that one difference has defined me and my life. I can't even begin to imagine who I would be or what I would be like if I weren't-" and in an unintentional demonstration, he catches himself just before he says a monster, substitutes, "-if I weren't a mutant. It's shaped everything that I am, Daneel."

It's not an easy thing to discuss - never will be, Ned imagines - but it's bearable with Daneel tucked up against his side, listening to patiently, so completely without judgement or loathing or agenda.

"It's not only the things that have happened because of it. The things I've done." He has to pause for a moment, to wrestle control back. Even alluding to how he'd killed Charles Charles and his mother is like walking a tight-wire over a bottomless abyss. If he is careful, if he doesn't look down into the endless black, if he just keeps putting one foot in front of another, he can keep it at bay, hundreds of feet beneath him.

Once he has his balance back he goes on, "Humans living in a world surrounded by nothing but other humans don't have to think about being human. They forget about it, except in extraordinary circumstances. But for someone like me, I had to think about what I am it all the time." He's explaining this in all the wrong order, he realizes. "What I could and couldn't say. What I could and couldn't eat. What I could and couldn't touch. I had to think about that kind of thing every second, because I had to keep what I was a secret. If people where I'm from found out what I could do, they wouldn't call me a human with a difference. They wouldn't see the hundred similarities, they would only see the one difference. And I know too much about people to think anything good would come of that."

It's a lot to take in, but Daneel listens -- with his mind as much as his ears. Odd, that pause Ned needs to take, the space of time to recover, and it isn't unlike his own pauses to recover when he has to push his way throw his programming. It's a strange parallel, and an interesting one, and with everything he's been thinking about lately.

"I understand," he says, and he does, or at least he thinks he does. "You prefer to define yourself by what has affected your existence more, rather than what is proportionately significant -- in your case, your difference." Because that is how Daneel sees it: Ned's power is one very small part of who he is, one detail among many. However it might have shaped him, to Daneel it's only of fractionally more note than the colour of his hair, the tone of his voice, the feel of his mind, his skill with baked goods and that one taste of apple pie. It's relevant, but not central to everything he considers Ned to be.

"If you had lived in a society where just abilities were unusual but accepted as a typical deviation from the norm but nothing more, would you then be more comfortable with the label of 'human'?"

"Yeah, I guess I do."

Ned is silent for a while, trying to put his mind into the scenario that Daneel suggests. At last he shakes his head faintly against the pillow. "I don't know. Maybe. I kind of can't even imagine what a life like that would be like."

He'd tried, over the years. There was a reason he'd always been drawn to science fiction, to speculative fiction, to narratives in which people who were different knew one another and lived in the open. But actually imagining his own history re-written, replacing fear with acceptance and confusion with certainty is too much. His mind balks at the attempt.

"I'm not even uncomfortable with the label 'human', necessarily - though that might not hold true for all mutants. It just... doesn't feel like enough, on its own."

In Ned's admittedly limited experience, any person Daneel might ask that question would answer differently. Does Galen consider himself a mutant, now that Ned suggested that might be an explanation for his dream-walking powers? Does he consider himself human at the same time, or exclusively? Ned isn't really sure how one even goes about asking that question. Which leads him to wonder...

"Who else were you thinking of asking? About your stuff, I mean?"

"I considered Tony. He has done some work with early robotics and has a unique viewpoint on such matters." Early by Daneel's standards, of course, which maybe might not mean much to someone of Tony's own time. "He has told me of the AI he created, and chose not to constrain by the Laws in any way."

And truthfully that's troubling to him, for no reason he can really name. Humans are not bound by the Laws, and while there are certainly some individuals who do terrible things, most do not.

"Tony seems to believe that I can simply stop adhering to the Three Laws, which is not possible, but his input is still valuable in this matter." Daneel considers this. "I would also like to discuss the matter with Mordion Agenos, if he is amenable. I realise he has just arrived, and I am not well enough acquainted with him to request anything of him as yet, but he's also familiar enough with robots that I would like his advice."

Daneel falls quiet. It's such a monumental task that he isn't sure where to begin.

"I would appreciate other suggestions."

The news about Tony's ability with artificial intelligence is a surprise, to Ned; he doesn't actually know much about the man. It sounds as if he'll be a good resource for Daneel, in addition to being his friend. Ned thinks he really ought to... talk to him, one of these days. Clear the air between them. For Daneel's sake, at the very least.

As for Mordion, Ned had only just met the man, but he'd seemed quite kind, if mysterious. "Can't do any harm to ask for his advice. For all you know, he might be happy to give it."

When Daneel asks for other suggestions, Ned shrugs. "River? I know the way she speaks can be a little hard to understand, sometimes, but she's... very wise, in a lot of ways. And very good. I know she's certainly never led me astray." After a pause, he adds, "I trust her."

There is weight in that pronouncement. The list of people that Ned trust - truly trusts - is not a list so much as a dyad: River and Daneel. There are others he cares about, others he trust in a working way for every day, but not in the same way.

"Charles is also very good at talking things through with people. He's the one who explained to me what mutants are, so he might be able to give you some insight on that, as well."

Daneel considers this, momentarily taken aback by the difference in approaches between his and Ned's way of thinking.

"My intention was to seek out those who might possess expertise in robots," he observes. "Instead, you suggest that I question those who have a good understanding of the workings of a mind. I confess this is an approach that did not occur to me."

It's an entirely different method. There's a logic to it, too, but a different sort of logic from his own.

"I believe I will ask them, yes." That he might have so many people who might be able to offer advice hadn't occured to him.

Ned is glad that his suggestions were useful, that his approach - though it might be a different one than Daneel's - meets with his approval. Of course, it all sounds very logical and ideal, when Daneel frames it that way. Ned had merely thought of who he would (and had) talk to, if the tables were turned. Just as important as the two telepaths' knowledge of the workings of a mind are their good intentions and lack of prejudice.

Letting out another deep, slow sigh, Ned closes his eyes, perfectly comfortable and content. "May I ask another question?" Daneel had told him he is allowed to ask whatever he likes, but the reflex of politeness is still there. This time, at least, he goes on without waiting for a reply from Daneel. "Is it completely unheard of on Aurora? This kind of thing?" He realizes a second later that his question was vague, clarifies, "A human and a robot?"

Odd, he wouldn't have expected that he'd be the sort of man who'd have difficulty declaring his feelings outright, in simple, direct words. But at the very least he has the consolation of knowing that Daneel knows how he feels, perhaps more accurately and honestly than he would if Ned were capable, currently, of a thousand eloquent declarations. He doesn't have to find the right way to explicate the occasional feeling of lightness, the way he sometimes can't catch his breath when he thinks about Daneel, the way he currently feels as if he must be glowing with affection. Daneel will be able to read all of that. And he'll work on the words.

Sometimes the sheer depth of emotion from Ned directed at him is overwhelming. How can he possibly be responsible for that? How is it even remotely wise for him to encourage this? It's overwhelming in its perfection, in the beauty of that, to know he has something to do with it.

"Sexual relations between humans and robots are not uncommon," he says. That's not precisely what Ned is asking, and he knows it -- this isn't anything so simplistic as sexual, whatever it is that is growing between them. "It's typically seen as a form of masturbation. As for the emotional aspect, that is less acceptable."

He knows of one case, and it's far too close to the sort of thing he fears. "Dr. Fastolfe created one other humaniform robot after me. He gave friend Jander into the care of Lady Gladia, and she did make use of him sexually. She fell in love with him, and called him her husband, until he suffered mental freeze-out and became permanently inoperable."

Is this even completely relevant? It was a different situation, in some ways.

"To an extent, Lady Gladia's relationship with friend Jander had much to do with public opinion not being in favour of humaniform robots."

That perfect happiness of his is punctured by indignation, even revulsion, at the first part of Daneel's answer. He shouldn't be surprised, he thinks. Should have realized this would be the logical extension of everything else Daneel had told him about the way robots were viewed and treated in his time, and everything he knows about the way humans behave towards those they view as inferior. Of course, humans would use them for sex, while claiming the robots involved - who, Ned remembers with an actual twist of nausea, were most likely ordered to comply - were objects rather than beings.

Before he has the chance to really think about that, to let himself tip over the edge into rage and disgust, he gets hold of himself, listens quietly to what Daneel is saying. So there had been another robot like Daneel, designed to be indistinguishable from human, who had been involved with a human woman (and even the way Daneel says that, the phrase make use of him sexually, sets Ned's skin crawling).

When Daneel mentions Jander's fate, it's as if the bottom of Ned's stomach has dropped out. He twists around, facing Daneel, heart speeding up with sudden fear.

"Was it- did she-" Ned is too overcome to easily ask whether this Gladia's treatment of Jander and her feelings for him directly caused his death. Daneel's sentence structure seems to possibly suggest it. Voice tight, he chokes out, "Could that happen to you, because of me?"

It is, he thinks, perhaps one of the only thing that could convince him not to pursue his feelings for Daneel. Daneel's life is not something he's willing to risk. He'll avoid him entirely if he needs to. Change houses. Turn himself into ice. Whatever it takes.

Ned has not - and perhaps never will - shake his tendency to think of himself as a weapon, a danger to anyone who gets close to him. He'd learned to live with that fear. If it stopped him from getting close to people, he told himself it was better for them in the end. The further they were from him, the further they were from potential harm. But Daneel had somehow worked his way out of the category. All the ways Ned thought of himself as a threat had to do with his powers, and those, he somehow knows now (without quite being sure how he knows) wouldn't work on Daneel. But apparently that isn't enough. Apparently, he may still be a threat.

"It's difficult to say for certain what caused friend Jander to become inoperable."

Daneel's voice is very calm, if thoughtful -- far calmer than anyone has any right to be when discussing what really is a potential reason for him to die. Truthfully, he has no desire to deactivate, but the distress it would cause Ned is something he's beginning to realise. It's a little daunting for him.

"Dr. Fastolfe had a political enemy, another roboticist, named Kelden Amadiro. Amadiro wished to make humaniform robots, but Dr. Fastolfe had decided not to and would not make the technological advances he and Dr. Sarton had invented available to him. Amadiro did not have access to me, but he was able to contact friend Jander without Lady Gladia's knowledge and interview him in an attempt to determine how Dr. Fastolfe had designed him."

Daneel recites the story calmly, but he doesn't move away from Ned, either. He stays close, holding him. Truthfulness is important, but so is being able to reassure him.

"Something that Amadiro said to him in one of these interviews caused a positronic conflict. A positronic brain as sophisticated as his, or mine, has a great many failsafes to prevent most conflicts from causing the sort of catastrophic failure that cause him to deactivate. The exact nature of what Amadiro might have said must remain a mystery. It is possible that friend Jander merely found himself caught in conflict between opposing loyalties."

He'd rather not admit the other possibility to Ned, but... it might be better to be truthful here, rather than remain silent. "It's also possible that friend Jander was made aware that by allowing Lady Gladia to love him, he was preventing her from developing past her sexual discomforts, and so harming her in the long run."

It's a possibility he's aware of; he thinks it very unlikely, though it's a danger that's always something he's aware of. Ned is not Gladia, with a different background and different neuroses to work through. That Gladia was genuinely fond of Jander he doesn't doubt either, but he's not sure it was of the same intensity for what he feels from Ned.

"This was nearly twenty decades ago, Ned." With the truth told, the next stage is to reassure him. "I believe I have developed a great deal in that time, and the situations are not parallel in many ways. I am still concerned that I may harm you unwillingly just by my own nature."

Ned listens in silence to the story; it is not the firm no that he might have longed for, but it does help. The situation surrounding Jander's death was apparently quite complex, enough that the exact cause is uncertain, even to Daneel, who is just like him. But it is good to hear that the situations are not as alike as he'd imagined, that there are failsafes, that Daneel believes his greater experience will protect him from a similar fate. The urgency of his fear dulls, recedes.

All Ned needs to do, he thinks, to prevent even the possibility of a similar tragedy, is to make sure it's obvious to Daneel that he is good for Ned, in the long run. That he is so, Ned doesn't doubt.

"I know you are." Ned isn't naive enough to assume that Daneel's concern would go away quickly or easily. It doesn't work like that; he knows it doesn't. Perhaps it would be wise to make sure Daneel knows that he understands. He closes his eyes as he speaks; even being able to see the faint light reflecting off Daneel's eyes would make this harder to admit aloud.

"That's sort of how I feel, but around everyone, all the time. I'm petrified that I'll hurt people without meaning to, because it's happened before. But with you, I mean-" Ned manages a small, weak smile, "-present conversation excluded, I'm not afraid I'll hurt you. And I've never had that with anyone. Your nature isn't something that's going to harm me, Daneel. It's what makes it possible for me to bear lying in a bed with you, and holding your hand, and a million other things I thought I was never going to be able to do."

That isn't reassuring, not really. It's not exactly the same situation (Gladia's need was distinctly sexual, but Ned's is... not), but it still implies to Daneel that Ned is limiting himself, reaching for Daneel because he's afraid of something else. That can't be good for him, not really.

"Ned, I don't wish you to settle for me because you think it's impossible for you to have this with a human being." He's very grave; these moments, curled up with Ned, intimate and safe, are very valuable to him, but the idea that they might have negative conseqences is extremely uncomfortable.

But then, some day this will end, one way or another. They will be forcibly parted, or Ned will die, or Daneel will cease functioning, or Ned will grow beyond what Daneel can give him. Daneel will let him go, then -- what else can he do? -- and remember their time together fondly. Even if this is a step for Ned on the way to something better, then in the end he will have done good.

Is it selfish to think of reasons he should let this happen? There's always the possibility of complete failure, of heartbreak, of hurting Ned further in his failure. He isn't getting out of the bed, either.

"I cannot risk your happiness or your wellbeing."

"I'm not settling. Settling is when you want a slice of peach pie but you decide to make do with apple cobbler because they've run out of peach pie and apple cobbler is similar enough, but you're a little disappointed on the inside, because it is only second-best, right?" Ned wishes he were more eloquent, wishes all his explanations didn't hinge so ludicrously on metaphors involving baked goods. Abstract logic has never been a strength of his, and this is the only language he knows to describe his own emotional logic. Where words fail, he hopes, actions will pick up the slack; he leans in and kisses Daneel, softly and very briefly.

"You've got it all reversed. Before you, all I did was settle. I was disappointed for years and years, and I got so used to that feeling that I stopped even paying attention to it. But then I met you and it was like... getting that slice of peach pie, when I thought apple cobbler was the only thing that existed. So you see, it's the opposite."

Ned knows how serious the consequences would be for Daneel, if he ended up getting hurt. He doesn't take Daneel's hesitations lightly, but he understands them, in one form or another. It's amazing that, despite everything, the two of them have such similar reservations.

"Your problem is you assume that I must want the apple cobbler just because I'm a- no, the metaphor just isn't working anymore." Ned laughs softly, "Your problem is you assume that I must secretly or unconsciously want to be with a human being because I am one. That you're second-best, automatically. I don't buy that. Not when you make me as happy as you do."

"I am peach pie?"

Ned's metaphors continue to confuse him. One pie over another is just entirely inexplicable to him; he's only ever had one type. The intent, at least, is clear, or so he has to believe.

"It would be reasonable to assume that a human being would require another human to be happy as a couple," Daneel says quietly, "but perhaps I am mistaken in that assumption."

It's a small concession on the face of it, but a large one for him.

"Yes, you're peach pie. And you want to know a secret? People always ask me what my favourite kind of pie is, and I tell them that I like all pie equally, but it's not true." Ned lowers his voice, falsely conspiratorial, the corner of his mouth twisting into a lopsided smile, "Peach is definitely my favourite."

This is encouraging; Ned knows it can't be easy, but Daneel seems willing to at least entertain the notion that his assumption is incorrect. That Ned is the best judge of what he requires to be happy.

"It might sound reasonable, sure, but plenty of things sound reasonable without being true."

Daneel might not be willing to concede the point wholly just yet, and Ned doesn't want to push him too quickly, but this is certainly a start. Hopefully, Ned's continued enjoyment of Daneel's company will be strong enough evidence to support his side of things; the empirical observation of the fact of his happiness must eventually override Daneel's accepted beliefs about how humans ought to behave, mustn't it?

So he focuses his attention not on arguing the point out logically, for now. Arguing has never been his strong suit. Instead he turns away from Daneel, fitting their bodies together easily and pulling Daneels arm around to rest with his hand over his heart.

"Will you wake me up if I have another nightmare, please?"

Although the thought crosses his mind that he's being teased a little, if he is it doesn't bother him, even if it's completely inexplicable to be told that he is peach pie, even if that's Ned's favourite.

Which is, truthfully, pleasant to hear.

For now, he settles himself around Ned comfortably, aware of the beat of Ned's heart against his hand: alive, and well, and safe for as long as Daneel has any say in things.

"Yes, of course I will. Rest well, Ned."

i woke up and he was screaming

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