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It doesn't take long for Daneel to answer the door, and he stands to one side as he opens it.

"Come in, Tony. I am very glad to see you." He is, too; there's a lot to talk about, a lot to go over, and he doesn't have any better robotics expert around. Even if, by Daneel's standards, Tony's necessarily working with more primitive technology, it's still far better than anyone else's uninformed opinion.

"May I get you something to drink?"

He steps in at Daneel’s invitation to enter, glancing around in idle curiosity. As far as he can remember, he hasn’t been in this particular house before. It doesn’t look dramatically different than his own, however, and his eyes quickly find their way back to Daneel.

“Hmm? No, it’s fine. I had a drink before I came over.” Whether he means a non-alcoholic one or not is anyone’s guess, though he isn’t visibly intoxicated and he doesn’t smell of booze. “So what’s new with you? Anything interesting going on? How’s the—How was it? Getting used to being you again? I wondered, but I didn’t get to ask before I went home.”

It’s only after he asks that he wonders if it’s a touchy subject, but by then it’s too late to take it back and he rarely lets putting his foot in his mouth stop him from asking nosy questions.

"I am adjusting," Daneel says after a moment. It's the only way he knows how to phrase it, such a complicated process for him. "It was difficult to adjust afterwards to having had a span of time in which I was not bound by the Three Laws. I have also found that while there were experiences I do not regret, they've had some unforeseen consequences."

Not unpleasant, but unforeseen. "Please sit down, Tony. It is of some of these ramification that I wish to speak to you. I have moved to this house to better facilitate the relationship I find myself in." He's equal parts curious and anxious to hear Tony's opinion. "I believe that it could be termed a 'romantic' one."

The last person anyone should ever come to for relationship advice is Tony Stark. As requested, he takes a seat with a conflicting mixture of pride and happiness on Daneel’s behalf and a liberal helping of fear and anxiety that he’s going to ask for dating tips that he’s in no way qualified to provide. Unless this is some subtle lead up to asking for sex tips. In that case, he’ll be overqualified and more than happy to help.

Suppressing the urge to whistle in approval, he gives Daneel a wide grin. “That’s probably the best news I heard all day. How’s that going for you? Who’s the lucky person? Do you need me to give them the Talk? I don’t have a shotgun, but I can improvise with standing up straight and stern glares. Probably won't be as effective, but it's the thought that counts, right?”

"I don't believe shotguns are necessary, Tony, nor is any other method of violence."

Half of that doesn't make sense to Daneel. Shotguns and capital-lettered-talks have no relevance to anything, so far as he can see. He sits down opposite Tony, folding his hands in his lap.

"It is Ned, in fact. I offered myself sexually to him while I was human, and he accepted. In the aftermath, we have grown very close." He's uncertain about all of this, even as to whether 'romantic' is the right word to describe any of it. Ned is his friend, but the physical side of things does go beyond what most cultures accept as 'friendly.' "I am not sure that this is wise, but it makes him so happy that I try."

Ned? For a moment, Tony looks at him blankly, trying to figure out who that is. Someone new? No, he said it happened when he was human, which means that Tony had been there and ought to remember. He sorts back through his memories, trying to find a face to fit the name.

“Ned? I don’t remember a… You mean that guy I almost bit when—” Mouth getting away from his brain, Tony shakes his head, wincing slightly in apology. “That was—Sorry. For the, everything. Bringing up bad memories, terrorizing your boyfriend. My bad.”

The problem with Tony is that sometimes, he gets his foot so far into his mouth that he can’t easily get it out again. Clearing his throat, he changes conversational directions entirely. “Why isn’t it wise? If you’re both happy, that seems pretty wise to me. Aren’t you happy? You sound happy.”

"You were not yourself." Still, it's troubling to think of, to know Ned is still haunted by these attacks, suffering nightmares. None of them were themselves, strictly speaking.

"I am happy," Daneel says, somewhat hesitantly. It's a significant thing for him to declare, not the sort of feeling he's used to acknowledging even to himself. "I am, however, concerned that I cannot be what he requires for a healthy and happy relationship. He assures me this isn't the case, but Ned can't be said to have an unbiased view of the situation."

And he needs that outside opinion, because he's having trouble being objective, himself.

"Humans speak of 'love,' but it's so often tied up in sexual desire. I cannot feel that, though I at least remember what it's like. Ned is... my friend."

“He may not be unbiased, but he’s your best source of figuring out what he wants and what makes him happy. So if he’s saying that he’s happy with you, listen to him. He doesn’t have any reason to lie, right?”

Tony doesn’t know Ned. He’s not going to pretend that he has any idea about what makes him happy. But he does know people, and after a string of bad relationships, Tony knows that the best way to figure out what brings a partner happiness and satisfaction is to ask.

“As far as love and sex go, honestly, Daneel, I think you’re probably more capable of loving someone properly than the rest of us are. We get conflate sex and love all the time, sometimes on purpose, sometimes by accident. Being able to separate the two, that’s a good thing. Not a detriment.”

Daneel has to think about this for a moment. It's a perspective he hadn't even considered, though it doesn't satisfy the question of whether he's properly capable of it. "I don't wish to harm Ned through my failure."

All this, though, is beside the point. "This is not, in fact, what I wished to speak to you about, Tony, though your input is certainly valuable, and perhaps my other concern is related."

He pauses, to sort his words out so that it's easier to say them, because this is a difficult subject. "I have had some difficulty with the Laws since I arrived. Namely, my programming refers to humans, but there are many here who are not, or who dislike that classification applied to themselves. I have tried to categorize them as 'Other,' but this, too, is proving insufficient. The matter is further complicated by my own time as human. I... feel much the same as I did then, sensory and biological experiences aside."

He breathes a sigh of relief at that. Having reached the limit of his ability to give sound relationship advice, he’s more than willing and happy to abandon it for other topics. That Daneel picks a subject that he actually has a firm understanding of only makes it better.

“I’m going out on a limb here and assuming that the only people the humans of your time had any encounters with were other humans, right?” He taps a finger against the arm of the chair he’s sitting on for a second, thinking it over. “The Laws are designed to do what, broadly speaking? Safeguard the lives of sentient people? Why not adjust it that way? Substitute people for humans. That would cover humans, aliens, other species, you, everybody.”

"This has occurred to me." Truthfully, he's glad Tony said it first. "I cannot rewrite or discard the Laws, but I may be able to redefine 'human,' in precisely the way you suggest."

It's easy to suggest, for Tony at least, but harder to implement.

"That such a definition would apply to me has unsettling implications," he continues, after a moment to recover. "If my own wellbeing is covered under the First Law, then this renders the Third irrelevant."

That's distressing, and it shows for once. His voice is strained.

Tony has opinions about the Laws. Those opinions have only grown stronger and more resolute in his time away from this place. But in the interest of being helpful instead of argumentative, he bites his tongue on what he would like to say and tries to find something useful instead.

“If you don’t want it to apply to you, couldn’t you just take yourself out of the equation? Define it as, I don’t know, something a little more specific. Organic people, maybe.” It galls him to say it, and he feels a little like he’s betraying JARVIS as he does it, but he gets it out without sounding bitter or sarcastic.

“You can always redefine the parameters, can’t you? If you meet new people or your perspective about someone changes?”

This is an approach Daneel hasn't considered much, and he thinks on it for a moment. It should work. Not too long ago, it would have been sufficient, but now? Now it won't work for him. He can't just choose what's easier; he has to choose what's right, what's logical and true.

"To define 'human' as 'organic sentient' is an incomplete solution, Tony," he says at last. "I was exactly that, even if it was temporary. No matter how I define 'human,' it's problematic when a definition can sometimes be applied to me and sometimes cannot. Redefining parameters can be done, but this is difficult. This process is... not easy for me. It is uncomfortable."

“Okay, scratch that. I don’t want to encourage you to do this more than you absolutely have to then.”

It sounds like what Daneel needs is one rewrite to his programming. One sort of catch-all definition that allows everything to coexist without any dissonance. No doubt, much like everything else in life, that’s easier said than done.

“Can you redefine the term as people and simultaneously rework the way it applies to the Third Law so it doesn’t make it irrelevant?” That’s probably not possible, but he has to suggest it anyway. At the very least, by bringing up things that won’t work, maybe they can narrow down what will. Or spark an idea that will lead to a solution. “Or isn’t there enough wiggle room for that?”

"'People' is very easily made a synonym for 'human,' in my programming." Very little about this is easy, so he won't question that any more than necessary.

The rest needs serious consideration, and Daneel falls silent for a moment, his mind racing as he goes over the logical ramifications, the possibilities.

"I have considered merely a definition of 'sentient' being enough to replace what now defines 'human,' but," he pauses momentarily, "what I find is that I cannot account for the Third Law, which governs my own safety, with this. To place my own well-being on par with any other individual's does not seem right to me. To exclude myself entirely from the First Law and define 'human' as 'any sentient other than myself' is insufficient. To adjust the Third Law, to say--"

Daneel stops suddenly, his expression curiosly blank for a moment as he struggles under something not quite, but akin to, pain. When he continues, his voice is strained, slow, plodding syllable by syllable through his thoughts. He must try.

"A small adjustment that might be possible is that while I do not exclude myself from this definition of 'human,' the First Law refers to harm inflicted upon others before harm inflicted upon myself. My Third Law is... unusually strong. If I am human, then it is stronger."

The more he hears about these Laws, the more he sees their impact on Daneel, the more convinced he is that they're a detriment, not a beneficial necessity. More than simply the chains that make the robots of the future slaves, they seem to Tony's eyes to be a needless cruelty.

"Can I ask you something?" It's a rhetorical question. He doesn't wait for Daneel to give him permission to ask his question. The way he sees it, if he doesn't want to answer him, he doesn't have to do it. "You can remember what it was like when you were human, right?"

After a year spent away from the town and the memories that he'd made during his first visit, coupled with the fact that he didn't remember it while he was gone, Tony's own memories of being a vampire are still a little hazy. If he focuses on them, they get clearer, but it takes effort and digging to pull them out of the recent ones he's made. If it has only been a few days by Daneel's reckoning, he assumes that it's clearer for him.

"So I'm curious. In your opinion, what was the difference between you as a human and you as you are now? What makes one state of being more worthy of care and consideration than the other?"

"The difference is one of biology. The sensory input I received was different, as were my physical needs and responses. My mind, however, seemed... analagous, allowing for the differences in a positronic brain and an organic one. There were differences, but I was myself."

And that's at the heart of everything: that the differences between him and a real human are far more delicate and insignificant than he'd realised. There are differences, to be sure, and some seem very insurmountable, but... the mind is the same. And it's strange for him now to be able to remember a time when he wasn't bound by the Laws at all, when he was completely human rather than a close analogue, but whatever arrangement of positronic relays that makes him uniquely himself carried over.

"Ned agrees. He says I am the same, and he had a metaphor about different kinds of pie that I'm not sure I entirely understand." He frowns slightly. Metaphors are like riddles to him, and pie is mostly an unknown, but he thinks he grasps the important part of it.

"Filling's different but the end result is the same?" Tony hazards. He's not a baker. He can't manage to make scrambled eggs; pie is leaps and bounds above his meager culinary skills. But he knows what it is and he's eaten enough of it over the course of his life to at least try to guess at the metaphor Daneel's referencing.

"It doesn't matter." He waves it away. knowing if he focuses on it too long he'll get sidetracked by a tangent. "The point is, humans have a bunch of professions devoted to people trying to figure out what makes a person a person - sentience, self-awareness, the ability to utilize logic, reason, and morality - and they all tend to focus on the same thing. The mind." Some people call it the soul, but Tony doesn't hold with religion and he's not about to complicate an already complicated issue with another one he doesn't even believe in.

"If I lost my sight or my hearing, if my brain got damaged and I lost all my senses or I couldn't process the information they gave me, I'd still be a person. If my body wasn't entirely organic, it wouldn't make me less of a person. It's the capabilities of the mind, not the body that houses it, that makes a person." It's not polite to point, but he points at him anyway. "You're a person, Daneel. The way you process information doesn't change it. And if you want proof, look at your man Ned. People have sex. People have relationships. You can't tell me you care about the guy and you're in a relationship with him in one breath and tell me that you're not a person in the next. That's completely illogical."

Edited 2013-05-28 17:38 (UTC)

"It was something along those lines."

If he's a person, then it makes him much easier in his mind about his relationship with Ned. If he isn't, then this is a terrible mistake. Still, Tony is right on that count.

"I didn't anticipate finding myself in this sort of relationship," Daneel admits, "but you are correct. Any definition I form for 'human' must, necessarily, include me as well. It's a problematic side effect of what I am attempting. If I could avoid that, things would be much easier, but I cannot. I am a person, even if I am not human."

A huge step for him, a huge admission, and not an easy one. Robots are not good philosophers, and the definition of 'robot' is usually good enough for him, a simple description which is accurate and truthful. Defining personhood makes things much more complex.

"Damn right you're a person. Haven't I been saying that from day one?" He sounds exasperated, but he's smiling too broadly for his tone to be mistaken as anything truly negative. Daneel doesn't need his pride, but Tony's proud of him anyway. Realizing that one isn't as limited as society tries to suggest isn't easy. "You really ought to listen to me, buddy. I know what I'm talking about. Especially when it comes to stuff like this."

Not a lot of good has come from this place, but he thinks that if the experience has managed to convince a robot that he's not an object that exists for the pleasure of humans, then maybe it's all been worth it after all. And maybe this is enough progress made for today. Maybe he ought to let well enough alone. But Tony's never been good at that, and he can't resist taking it one step further.

After all, there was a reason he'd created JARVIS, and it wasn't for him to run his house.

"Did it ever occur to you that maybe the one who created you didn't make you to be a servant for humanity at all? Maybe he made you so that one day, you'd show the world that robots are people too and do away with the idiotic notion that they're not."

Daneel is quiet for a moment.

"Dr. Fastolfe and Dr. Sarton did discuss what they referred to as C/Fe. They envisioned an integration of carbon-based human, with that of metallic robots. Dr. Fastolfe spoke of combining the best of both, and one of the reasons they had for making me as I am was to further advance this idea. Dr. Fastolfe abandoned it later as unworkable. Humanity would not accept humaniform robots."

Whether this is what Tony is talking about is another question altogether.

"Actually, friend Giskard and I came to the conclusion that the high level of dependency Spacer worlds have on robots is unhealthy for humanity in the long run. It leads to stagnation. I don't believe either Dr. Fastolfe or Dr. Sarton would have seen the situation in that light."

“Maybe they did. Some humans are capable of recognizing when they’re stagnating. Not all of them, granted. The ego’s a huge pain in the ass – figuratively speaking – to get around. But some of them can.”

Tony himself has just had a very pointed lesson in the perils of stagnation and he isn’t soon going to forget it. Genius though he is, he’s learned that it can happen to him, too.

“Do you mind if I throw a minor wrench in the works of that ‘humanity can’t accept humaniform robots’ theory of yours?” Standing up, he crosses over to the nearest window and taps a finger against the glass. Then he turns, looking at Daneel with a raised eyebrow. “Humanity can accept humaniform robots. There’s a whole town out there who’s accepting you. And there’s one guy in particular who, from the sound of it, is doing a lot more than just accepting you. The people of your time were wrong. This place, for all its faults, is proof of that.”

"Then I will adjust my statement. The people of my time were unable to accept humaniform robots." Daneel watches Tony carefully, his expression solemn. "I know this because it was tried, and it failed. There are natural advantages a humaniform robot has over a human, and it has the potential to make humans uncomfortable. They become overly conscious of the differences, and reject them."

Even Dr. Fastolfe had given up on the idea, or so it had always seemed to Daneel.

"You are correct, though, that the situation here is very different. I have always put this down to the fact that most people here are unused to robots of any kind."

"In my experience, unusual things are feared, not readily accepted. But I'm an oddity myself, so maybe my opinion's a little skewed."

He can't explain why people here are so accepting. At home, this wouldn't be the case. People would be afraid, threatened, just as scared and uneasy as the people of Daneel's time. It's why he's always been so careful to downplay his real work.

"Honestly, I can't explain the people here. Maybe it's because we're all a little outside the norm, we're collectively more accepting of each other's differences. Back home, the humans I know would act the same way the ones you know would." Shrugging, he leans a hip against the wall near the window. "But for the record, I'm sticking with my theory of you being Robot Jesus. It appeals to my sense of drama and underused hope."

Perhaps there's some truth in the first part of what Tony says, that those who are themselves different and unusual are quicker to accept others despite their differences. Perhaps. This isn't a valid sample size, and there's too many variables.

"It may be the situation itself, too," Daneel suggests. "We have our captivity in common, at least, and if we are to thrive, we must accept each other. But I don't believe I understand your reference."

He knows something about the Bible, but the implications of the title Tony gives him is just a bit beyond him.

"What do you mean when you say I am 'Robot Jesus'?"

He probably should have picked a better reference. Jake Sully, perhaps. Or William Wallace. Or that guy from the Last of the Mohicans. Or Sonny. Anything but religion. But Tony assumes that it's more likely that Daneel will understand something pulled from human history than a pop culture reference from a movie that no one in the future will remember.

"Well, he was just an ordinary guy, right? Some laborer's son." It's both his lack of knowledge and his unwillingness to let the conversation get bogged down in mystical mumbo-jumbo that leaves his explanation somewhat lacking and scattered. "But he had some ideas about a better way to live and he showed a bunch of people those ideas and it changed the world."

And it led to the guy getting crucified. And the Crusades. And crazy fundamentalists. And a whole host of other problems that he's just going to ignore because it doesn't serve his purpose.

"The point is, he opened people's eyes, taught them stuff, and changed their lives. He figured out a better way and he wasn't scared to turn the world upside-down to pursue it." He pauses, thinks about it for a second, and shrugs. "There's also some story about freeing slaves, but I can't remember if that's him or some other guy. This isn't really my area of expertise here."

"You propose that the Biblical Jesus was a folk hero of sorts, a human given divinity in tales after his death?"

It's an entirely new idea for Daneel, but his experience with religion of any sort of is very limited; the Bible has very little circulation on Spacer worlds. He knows the Bible, but only because he needed to, once, to try to understand. He had thought it all very unlikely.

"I'm not sure your comparison is accurate, Tony." He shakes his head very slightly. "I am not a visionary. I do not philosophise. I have only ever done what I thought was right. If I have attempted to change the world around me it is only because I see circumstances that will bring harm."

"That's exactly what I'm saying."

Whether Daneel knows it or not, he's making Tony's case for why the comparison is accurate. He lets him do it, not interrupting until he's finished, and once he is, he pushes off of the wall and comes back over to reclaim his seat.

"See, that's it. Right there. You argued my point better than I could." He could let it go at that, but he doesn't. "Real leaders, real visionaries, they don't do it because they want to. They're not in it for glory or fame or to have statues built in their name. They just see something wrong with the status quo and they try to fix it. It's what comes of their actions, the changes they create, that makes them famous."

He isn't a leader. He's never been a leader, and he's never tried. Oh, he's overseen an estate of robots, but that's different. Frankly, the idea of being in a position to give actual orders to humans is a little unsettling.

If it was for the greater good, he would have to try, he supposed, but how many humans would be willing to take orders from a robot?

"I have never considered myself to be a leader. Possibly this is something that would be easier to accept than to define myself as human."

“You’ve never been a leader?” Tony looks at him doubtfully, forehead wrinkling as his eyebrows rise. “Never once? You’ve never given instructions to anyone about anything?”

Tony isn’t necessarily a leader either. He isn’t the kind of person anyone in their right mind would look up to, he makes too many mistakes, and he’s entirely too self-centered to reliably ensure that a number of people is in any way provided for at a given time. He can protect people, but he’d much rather leave the leading to someone else. As long as the aforementioned someone else didn’t try to make him follow orders.

But he has lead people. At work, in the field, when dealing with a situation when he knows more about how to handle it than other people. He’ll step up if he needs to and he suspects that at least one point in his life, so has Daneel.

"Overseeing the robots of Dr. Fastolfe's estate, and later Lady Gladia's estate, were certainly part of my duties," Daneel offers, though he's uncertain. "I have also taken charge of situations which have the potential to turn dangerous, when no one else is available. I am not certain that is leadership so much as it is responsibility."

He falls silent for a moment, trying to consider this.

"Perhaps they are not so different. A good leader is responsible for large numbers of people." Daneel's expression is thoughful, puzzled. "My Zeroth Law obliges me to protect humanity. Certainly it is possible that at some point I may find it necessary to assume such a position in order to minimise harm to a great many people. I suspect it may be easier for me to do this if I am under the guise of being human."

“If humans in your time are as nervous about robots as your Laws make it sound and you have to step up to save them, I think pretending to be human might be your best bet. At least until they realize that you’ve got their best interests at heart.” It irks him that he has to say it that way. Like he actually accepts that a robot ought to pretend to be something other than it is to get the kind of respect it deserves. Especially a robot that possesses AI like Daneel does. He doesn’t accept it. He just knows that it takes baby steps to change the world when the world’s too damn scared to walk forward on its own.

“Do the Laws allow you to do that if you need to?” As he says it, he lifts his hand in a gesture meant to forestall an immediate answer. “Not that I’m saying that you should have to pretend. I think that’s bullshit. You shouldn’t have to be anything than what you are. But if you needed to, if it was a matter of protecting yourself from idiots, could you do it?”

"I have, under orders, pretended to be human," Daneel answers. "Certainly, that I might be convincing was part of my design. Circumstances prior to my arrival here suggested, as well, that it would be wise for me to assume a pseudonym and pretend to be human. I am known of, after all, but I had... a task."

He's spoken of this to no one, mostly because it's never come up rather than any actual sense of secrecy. Admittedly, it might seem to be a presumptuous task to someone else.

"To ensure that friend Giskard did not sacrifice himself in vain, it would have been necessary to monitor the situation from safety and make adjustments. I would not be able to enforce the Zeroth Law any other way. Friend Giskard had already ensured we would not be missed."

“And that was something you chose to do on your own, right? Am I understanding that correctly?”

There’s a year’s worth of time in the middle of his various conversations with Daneel, and though he believes that the majority of his memories have returned, he wants to make sure that he’s not misremembering an important detail that would allow him to better understand all of this.

“When you decided to conceal your identity to maintain the Zeroth Law, that was your choice? Not the directive of someone else? And it was your decision to develop the Zeroth Law in the first place, wasn’t it?”

It’s more evidence that Daneel has already been the leader that Tony’s suggesting that he is. Proof that he hasn’t simply been following orders for the duration of his existence.

"It was my choice," Daneel confirms. "In order to uphold the Zeroth Law, it would have been necessary. And the Zeroth Law was certainly something I worked on, though friend Giskard's input was invaluable, and I would give him partial credit."

He shakes his head. That isn't relevant, so far as he can see.

"I've always been free to make judgement as to what actions are best taken," he says. "If a particular action seems likely to reduce harm, then of course I should take it."

“You told me that you weren’t a leader, but do you hear what you’ve been saying to me just now? You’ve been leading. You’ve been making the decisions that turn ordinary people into the kind of people that others follow.”

It’s vaguely reminiscent of the conversations he had with JARVIS once upon a time. There are differences, of course. Daneel has the sort of life experience that JARVIS never had, so where their conversations were largely theoretically in nature, this one is at least grounded in things that have happened.

“I know that there are cultural things at work here. Not to mention your programming and the experiences that you’ve had. But Daneel, you’ve got to start giving yourself more credit than you have been. Not just for your sake, though that’s a big one. The big one. But also for the sake of everyone who’s ever believed in you. Your creators. Your friend Giskard. Ned. The rest of the people here and back home. We all believe in you. You need to start believing in you too.”

Daneel is silent for a moment, thinking about this. It's a significant step, a slightly too-large one for him to make all at once. Whether other people believe in him or not is not precisely relevant to working out this puzzle of his personhood; either he logically is or he logically isn't.

Still, he thinks he understands the sentiment.

"I had not seen it that way," he says at last. "I merely do what seems right. I don't need people to follow me. On the contrary, I am more concerned with protecting them. If I can keep people safe by leading them, then I should."

"In my experience, the people who have the greatest likelihood of coming to harm are those without effective leadership."

Tony is the last one to champion Big Brother, but he understands that government of some form is necessary for a civilization to flourish. It makes him wonder what it is about this place that is, for the moment, working. Sure, there's that guy Stane, but he's hardly a leader. Yet the town hasn't collapsed in on itself, though not for lack of trying. Still, whether it's the relatively small size of the population or the threat of their captors keeping everyone in line, it's working. For now.

"I know it all seems overwhelming, but the fact that you're even thinking about any of this means that you'll work it out. JARVIS did. And he's had considerably less actual life experience and more bad examples than it sounds like you've had."

"You did not program friend JARVIS with the Three Laws, either." It's a gentle reminder, though the idea is still astonishing to him.

Still, this has been helpful. It's everything Daneel had hoped for; Tony's input is unique, invaluable. It gives him some reassurance that he might succeed at this. He has his framework, his solution, his path, and now he just has to see it out.

"I am sorry, Tony," Daneel says, "that you are here again against your will, but I am glad to have been able to speak to you about these matters. It's reassuring."

No, Daneel’s right about that. He didn’t program JARVIS with the Three Laws and thank his foresight for that. He just hopes that one day, Daneel can experience the kind of freedom that JARVIS has. Tony thinks he deserves it.

“Hey man, don’t even worry about it.” Shrugging, he brushes that apology away. “Home’s kind of stressing me out these days. I needed a break from it. This?” He waves a hand between them. “I like this. It reminds me of the parts of home I miss. So, if you look at it like that, it’s reassuring me too. Any time you want to talk, about anything, you let me know and we will. Deal?”

Daneel nods. "I will. Thank you, Tony. In return, I would do anything within my power to help you."

To be honest, he would have anyway, but phrasing it like that, as a favour returned, is a step closer to considering himself a person. It's only words now, but it's still a step.

"I believe it. Thank you." And if he can ever figure out what he needs that will help him, and manages to talk himself into asking for help, he will.

"Bit of unsolicited advice that I'm probably not qualified to give?" he adds after a second's thought. "Give him presents. Thoughtful presents, not huge custom-made stuffed rabbits. I've got it on good authority those are a bad choice in the pursuit of domestic bliss. But trust me, the only thing I've managed to get right in the few relationships I've had is that they like proof that you're thinking about them."

Daneel considers this information a moment. It's... honestly helpful, and he thinks of the lilacs Ned brought him with a new perspective.

"I am often thinking of him," he says. "I would not have thought to provide a token to prove that I am. I will find him an appropriate gift."

What, exactly, that might be -- well, he's not sure yet. He'll have to think about it.

"Good man. I'd offer you more advice, but something tells me you don't want to get shot and that's one of the better outcomes of my dating adventures." He's made a lot of poor decisions. A lot. How he's still alive is a mystery. "Although, hey, if you ever want advice on what not to do, I got you covered on that one."

Getting back to his feet again, he steps closer and holds out his hand. People shake hands in greeting and farewell, and while Tony doesn't really like doing it - it skirts too close to issues he's developed with being handed things - he doesn't feel the twinge of discomfort he usually does when he offers someone a hand.

"I'm gonna hit the road, let you get back to wooing your guy. Don't be a stranger, all right?"

Daneel takes Tony's hand, his grip firm and warm. It's a gesture he appreciates; he recognises it for a friendly gesture, the sort he's not entirely used to receiving.

"All right, Tony. Thank you very much for your time."

It's a poor way of expressing what he feels, and he offers Tony a small, serious smile.

"You are a good friend to me."

"Hey, you get the thanks. I'm the one who showed up uninvited," Tony says, giving his hand a firm shake before telling it go. There's a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth, threatening to turn into a smirk as he takes a step backward.

"That good friend thing. Can I get it in writing? Maybe framed? Or on a little card I can keep in my wallet?" It may be self-mockery, but he's wholly amused at it. "No one's going to believe it otherwise."

He's halfway to the door before he turns around and shoots Daneel a wink. "You're a good one to me too, Friend Daneel." He's noticed that he uses the term in relation to other robots, not humans, but Tony's always felt more at home with robots than humans anyway. Daneel might continue to insist on a difference, but as far as he's concerned, they've always been on equal footing. "Don't let anyone tell you differently."

The significance of friend doesn't escape him; it's a term layered in meaning and subtlety, affection and classification, and though he doubts he grasps all the nuances of it, he grasps enough.

Daneel nods. "Thank you, friend Tony." It's... strange to call a human that, but it's not an effort, either.