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Entry tags:
my heart is yours to fill or burst
Who: Ned and Daneel
What: Great big fancy romantic date
Where: House 20 and later the beach
When: Day 80, evening
Ned is a man who likes to plan. He hates surprises; in his experience they have rarely led to happiness. This thing developing between him and Daneel was a surprise, though, and it's already brought him more happiness than he would have thought was possible. Even in a place like this, even considering both of their particular circumstances, he's found an unlooked-for joy. It's easier to recognize how much it means to him now, several days on from that failed attempt at escape. That made him re-think his priorities and realize that, after all, he isn't so miserable here, and Daneel is a big part of that.
But they still haven't even been on what he would call an official date, and he wants to change that. Not necessarily because he holds with all the traditional forms of courtship, or because he thinks they need to behave in a way that would make their relationship comprehensible to others. He just thinks it would be nice. And so, because spontaneity is not his strong suit, he's been planning.
So Ned knocks on Daneel's door that evening, opens it when he hears himself given permission. He waits in the doorway, a rather large bouquet of flowers held between his hands. Ned might have spent most of the day in a sweaty old t-shirt with his hands in the dirt, but he cleans up just fine. He's wearing something particularly nice, tonight, for the occasion.
"These are for you," he says, holding them out. "I thought, if you weren't busy tonight, maybe we could go for a walk on the beach. Y'know, uh. As a date." Ned is starting to learn that sometimes it's best, with Daneel, that he's very literal and clear, that he doesn't let himself slip to his bad habit of only implying things or half-saying them, out of shyness.
"If you want."
He only sounds a hint timid as he adds that last bit. Less so he might have done in the past. Because Daneel has said more than once that he enjoys spending time with Ned, that being around Ned makes him happy, in his way. Ned still only half-believes it, but half-believing it is a significant improvement over not believing it at all. Real change, lasting change, has to come by slow increments, hard-fought-for and precious.
What: Great big fancy romantic date
Where: House 20 and later the beach
When: Day 80, evening
Ned is a man who likes to plan. He hates surprises; in his experience they have rarely led to happiness. This thing developing between him and Daneel was a surprise, though, and it's already brought him more happiness than he would have thought was possible. Even in a place like this, even considering both of their particular circumstances, he's found an unlooked-for joy. It's easier to recognize how much it means to him now, several days on from that failed attempt at escape. That made him re-think his priorities and realize that, after all, he isn't so miserable here, and Daneel is a big part of that.
But they still haven't even been on what he would call an official date, and he wants to change that. Not necessarily because he holds with all the traditional forms of courtship, or because he thinks they need to behave in a way that would make their relationship comprehensible to others. He just thinks it would be nice. And so, because spontaneity is not his strong suit, he's been planning.
So Ned knocks on Daneel's door that evening, opens it when he hears himself given permission. He waits in the doorway, a rather large bouquet of flowers held between his hands. Ned might have spent most of the day in a sweaty old t-shirt with his hands in the dirt, but he cleans up just fine. He's wearing something particularly nice, tonight, for the occasion.
"These are for you," he says, holding them out. "I thought, if you weren't busy tonight, maybe we could go for a walk on the beach. Y'know, uh. As a date." Ned is starting to learn that sometimes it's best, with Daneel, that he's very literal and clear, that he doesn't let himself slip to his bad habit of only implying things or half-saying them, out of shyness.
"If you want."
He only sounds a hint timid as he adds that last bit. Less so he might have done in the past. Because Daneel has said more than once that he enjoys spending time with Ned, that being around Ned makes him happy, in his way. Ned still only half-believes it, but half-believing it is a significant improvement over not believing it at all. Real change, lasting change, has to come by slow increments, hard-fought-for and precious.
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He takes the flowers, though, with an excessive amount of solemnity. This is... significant, after all. "Thank you, Ned. I am not, in fact, busy, and I would be pleased to spend my time with you."
Putting it mildly. He brings the flowers inside, puts them in the window, where they'll hopefully last and he will be able to see them for some time, where they'll make him think of Ned -- not that he needs the help, either. When he returns to Ned's side, he kisses him, because that seems appropriate, because he has to thank him somehow, because he wants to, because Ned deserves it in his mind.
"I have never been on a date before, as you might imagine. I'm not sure what would be expected of me."
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The kiss of gratitude is unexpected but very welcome; Ned kisses back without hesitation. Which in itself is extraordinary. He wonders if it will ever stop feeling extraordinary, how easy it is for him to kiss Daneel. There are butterflies in his stomach, rather than twisting knots of uneasiness; a warmth running down his arms to his fingertips, rather than the the strange, queasy, cold feeling he was so used to, when other people would kiss him in the past.
When they break apart he grins, the corners of his eyes crinkling with happiness. "I thought it was likely," he murmurs holding out one arm for Daneel to link his with, "To be honest I'm a bit fuzzy what's expected of me, too. How about the two of us just wing it?"
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"If you mean that we will improvise, then that is what we will do. A walk on the beach with you sounds very pleasant." More for the company than for the walk itself, as far as he's concerned, but... maybe that's the point of dates, not the activity but the company? He isn't sure. He need more information.
Perhaps this is the best way to gain this information. He's unused to being romanced, and sometimes he's concerned that he should be romancing Ned in some way, and that he's failing in this department.
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"I was just thinking," he says, drawing a little closer as they head down towards the lighthouse. "I keep seeing you everywhere."
He knows he ought to be more literal, but it's difficult to articulate just what he's saying, particularly when (as far as he thinks) he's never been a very eloquent or a very poetic man. "When we were walking through the living room just now, I wasn't just seeing it. I was remembering being in there with you, eating those peanut butter cookies you made for me." There is a radiance to Ned's smile, though it's only just visible as he lets his head duck forward, "Those were really good, you know."
Ned's voice is gaining surety as he goes on, "And the rug by the door made me remember tripping on it, that night I got so drunk and ended up bringing you home with me." He remembers Daneel's concerns that he would regret his choice, that he should wait until he was more sober. "I'm really glad I did."
There's a hush to this time of night that only seems to be amplified by the quiet noise of the waves, as the two of them reach the sand. Ned is more than happy to use the shifting of it beneath his feet as an excuse to lean into Daneel a little more. "I look at the porch to the house and the first thing I think of is sitting there and eating pie with you. I look at the waves and I remember how scared I was when you went under and I thought you were going to drown, after I'd said I would watch out for you."
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"I have observed a similar effect in myself," he says, and it's true, in just the way Ned phrases it. There are other memories associated with places, with objects, and they are no less crisp and clear and perfect, but the memories involving Ned are the first he thinks of, the ones he dwells on, the ones he replays in his mind and relives.
"Tony informed me that the appropriate thing to do in a relationship is to present a gift to show that one is thinking of him or her." The look he turns on Ned is almost earnest. "I am very often thinking of you, and you have given me the gift of so many unique experiences, so I have been considering what I could give you. I have not yet thought of anything."
And for that he is deeply regretful, because it seems like a failure on his part that Ned shouldn't have to suffer.
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What he says next startles a surprised laugh out of Ned. "You asked Tony for relationship advice?" There's something sweet about that, though, so he confides, "I, uh. Asked Galen and Jesse for date ideas." Uncertainty about dating and romance isn't just confined to robots, after all. "And you don't have to get me a gift. You've given me plenty of unique experiences, too. Just being with you, like this, the two of us..." Ned leans his head against Daneel's shoulder as they walk, keeping it there briefly. "...that's a gift."
It's a good thing for him, he thinks, that Daneel seems completely immune to the cheesiness of lines like that; he means every word of it, of course, but with other people he has to filter himself, be careful not to appear too sentimental, too corny. Too honestly himself. Around Daneel though, he doesn't worry so much.
"I was always terrible at getting people gifts. I try to find the perfect thing and worry and fret myself into a complete panic and end up giving them nothing at all." They are nearly up to the lighthouse, now. Ned is seized by the sudden urge to go up it, to see what the town looks like from on high.
"Come on," he says, letting go of Daneel's arm but taking him by the hand, pulling him along after him gently as he heads for the door. He tests it and finds it unlocked, darts a quick grin back at Daneel before tugging him in.
"Besides, in my experience, people only give you gifts when they want something from you." He spots the stairs, heads towards them, still smiling, "Are gifts not big on Aurora?"
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He follows Ned gladly inside the lighthouse, his hold on Ned's hand firm and warm. "People certainly give gifts on Aurora. I simply have no experience giving them, and I'm not sure what would be appropriate that is in my power to give you."
There's a desire there to take the world and lay it at Ned's feet, if it would please him, if it would make him happy. He can't do that, probably shouldn't do that even if he could, but he deeply wants to.
Inside the lighthouse, Daneel moves close, putting an arm around Ned protectively. There's been more than one peculiar phenomenon in this building, and he cannot truly account for it, but they have no place here and now, not with Ned at stake.
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"Well like I said you don't have to, and even if you still decide you want to, don't worry yourself about it too much, alright?"
It takes some looking to find the stairs, but once they do, Ned heads up them, keeping Daneel close by his side. He looks at their surroundings with an unfeigned curiosity and delight. "Spooky," he comments. A moment later, with rather comedic timing, he catches sight of a movement in some reflective surface from the corner of his eye. He starts, clutching at Daneel's arm reflexively and turning to face it. His momentary fright vanishes when he sees that it was only their reflections and he laughs at his own jumpiness.
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He doesn't believe in ghosts, and he doesn't believe this place is haunted, but no harm will come to Ned here. Daneel is certain of that, if he is certain of anything.
"Be careful, Ned." He couldn't have avoided saying it for anything, but he's close to Ned's side. Is it better to inform Ned of the nature of this place, or to explore and be ready and not ruin Ned's mood with a perhaps unnecessary warning?
It's good, though, to see him so happy. It lightens Daneel considerably.
"I have heard unusual stories about this lighthouse. I'm certain that at least some of them are merely overactive imagination."
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That gives him pause. He doesn't believe in ghosts, either. At least he hadn't believed in them before he came to this place. He also hadn't believed in psychics or vampires or any number of things that he has seen and experienced for himself in the Cape. The usual rules don't apply, here.
Ned's seen too many horror movies to want to be that stupid guy in the first few minutes who barges into someplace terrifying just to prove his own masculinity. His desire to see the town from the top of the lighthouse was only a passing fancy, to start with. That was before he knew the whole story. Better safe than sorry. If he keeps going on now, irrational as it might be, there will be a tiny corner of his mind that is afraid, that is gnawing away at his happiness with worry. He doesn't want that, and what's more, he doesn't want Daneel feeling that through him.
Besides, he knows that Daneel won't think less of him for changing his mind, won't call him a chicken or a coward.
"Well then, how about we spare my already overactive imagination and leave? It was just a whim, anyway." Ned nods back the way they came, starts heading back down the stairs with Daneel, holding onto him a fraction tighter.
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He likes Ned better when he's happy and relaxed, anyway. If it's just a whim, too, then Daneel won't have ruined any plans.
He's suspecting he's not doing so well at this 'date' thing.
"'Ghost story' is accurate, however. Voices and strange phenomenon have been observed. Whether they are supernatural in nature I cannot say." He holds Ned closely as they move down the stairs, or at least as closely as he can while they're moving.
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He's had enough bad things happen to him without intentionally putting himself in (possible) danger with no cause. He knows that, and Daneel knows that - in part, anyway. Ned still hasn't been quite as honest as perhaps he ought to have been, in regards to the extent of what he's gone through here, but he doesn't think Daneel would hold that against him. He knows how hard it is for Daneel to even hear about human beings in danger or in pain. Ned can't put him through that, won't put him through it unless something forces his hand.
Once they are out in the open air again, Ned breathes easier, that prickling feeling on the back of his neck vanishing. He lets out a long sigh, tilting his head back and saying, to clear away the cobwebs of that little snafu, "The stars are beautiful tonight."
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It's hard for him to really comprehend why the stars are beautiful, or why tonight moreso than another. It's a clear night, and they're visible, but that's another matter entirely. There are a great many stars, each a sun, each with possible worlds, and he knows this very well, and a hyperspace jump makes those vast distances considerably smaller.
"I witnessed humanity moving beyond its current place, beyond the stagnancy of both Earth and the Spacer worlds. The possibility that settlers would spread to every habitable world in the galaxy was very strong. A sky like this is full of potential homes for billions of humans, or some that already are." Daneel isn't prone to philosphy, or streaks of poetry, but this idea strikes him as very right, as the best possible thing for humanity, something he should encourage, help guide them to if he can. "In a sky like this, I cannot say what it is I see. There are any number of systems, and they may or may not have life on the planets there."
Once, he would have hoped merely for human life, not thinking anything else likely. Now, he'll hope for life beyond homo sapiens, because now he knows it's possible.
"I do not know these stars. They do not resemble the night sky seen from Aurora."
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For a moment he has a sense of the scale of it all; the vastness of space and the two of them here, together, pressed close. They are minuscule and fleeting pinpricks. Well, one a little more fleeting than the other. Ned finds it calming. A lot of the time he gets too wrapped up in himself, he knows. It's hard to feel anxious when he feels so small. What harm could he really do, on the grand scale of things. Fail or succeed, it didn't shift the universe much one way or another.
"I don't know them, either," he murmurs, taking his eyes away from the heavens to look at Daneel, "But I love that you look at the stars and see potential."
Ned starts walking again, lets their steps meander a little closer to the ocean so he can listen to the black water steadily moving, pushing and pulling at the sand. "It's hard for me to get my head around, a lot of the time. The world that you come from. Moving from planet to planet. Settling the galaxy." He smiles a little now, voice warm with affection when he says, "I mean, you remember when I met you. I couldn't believe you were real."
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Which is something that troubles him a little, honestly. He doesn't want to deceive anyone, not really. It isn't necessary, here. He should be open. He should be honest. In this place, there should be no more deception than necessary.
"I see much potential in humanity, both for good and bad. I wish to encourage the good. I hope that isn't presumptuous." And Ned is nothing but good, as far as Daneel's concerned, even if Ned doesn't consider himself to be strictly human. "In my time, humanity is beginning to move outwards again, after too long being content to stagnate. Most individuals do not move from planet to planet. Most are content to stay on their world of origin their whole lives without leaving."
He holds Ned close against him, though, his expression solemn as ever.
"You are so fascinated by it. I would show it all to you if I were capable of it."
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"That's what I try to do. Tried to do. Back home. It's not always true, but in my experience, the people who do bad things are usually unhappy in one way or another. They're lonely or they're insecure or they're frightened. If I can make a dozen people a day feel a little less lonely or insecure or frightened with a slice of pie, the way I see it, they'll be kinder to the next dozen people they see, and so on. It's like a happiness ripple."
Perhaps a silly and fanciful way of looking at things, he knows. His impact on the world is very small. He isn't like Daneel, off solving murders, or Giskard, saving all of humanity. But it's his humble way of making a difference.
"I can't imagine staying on only one planet, if I had the option to see others." Ned's never been much of a world traveler - never left the country, never strayed too far from home. But it wasn't necessarily by choice. He had never had the money to travel, never had the time. There had always been a someday in his mind: someday he'd go to Paris, someday he'd see the Great Wall of China, someday... "I don't understand how could people turn down an opportunity like that."
When Daneel says he'd show Ned his world if he could, Ned beams. The fact that Daneel would want to show him is powerful enough all on its own - even better, in some ways, than actually seeing it. "Telling me about it is nearly as good," he says.
Ned glances at the time on his watch, stops walking. There's something almost coy in his smile as he asks, "Do you know how to dance, Daneel?"
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Ned's question, though, is surprising, unexpected, and he pauses for a moment before answering. "I'm familiar with the activity and purpose. I have witnessed it on occassion and perhaps could replicate it. I have never attempted it."
He tilts his head to one side as he looks at Ned, trying to work things out. Ned is a great puzzle to him, wonderful and fascinating and irresistable, but no less obscure for him, sometimes. "Was this something you wished to try?"
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Ned goes through the basic steps of a waltz, letting Daneel lead, demonstrating each movement and waiting patiently for Daneel to mirror him. Daneel is a quick learner, graceful in a way that Ned had never quite noticed before that moment. Once Ned thinks Daneel's got a grasp of the basics, Ned stops, holds up a finger indicating that he should wait. He turns his attention to his communicator. Right on time. He changes the setting to send a private voice message to Galen, says simply, 'Hit it, music man."
There's the sound of a laugh, and then music starts to come through the speakers of the device, guitar chords in a 3/4 rhythm, steady and melodic. Ned presses close to Daneel again, biting his bottom lip against a grin. He starts to dance again, this time to the beat of the music.
Ned feels so light it's as if his feet are barely touching the ground, as if he could spin off into the air with buoyant happiness. It's perfect - the music and the starlight and the sound of the waves, the two of them holding each other close and perfectly alone. He's in a kind of romantic haze, giddy and after a few spins pleasantly dizzy.
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But this--
This is something entirely fantastic. Music provided for an impromptu dance -- Ned had to have planned it, and Ned is now safe in his arms and happy beyond his ability to describe in words. He can't help but share that, and if Ned feels buoyantly happy, Daneel is soaring, in a way that would make a creature of organic construction tremble. There was absolutely no reason for Ned to do this, none at all, and yet he has for the benefit of them both, that for some reason Daneel and his presence is important enough for this degree of effort.
It's illogical, and at the same time Daneel knows that he would have done nothing less to make Ned happy.
So he only holds Ned close against him as they dance, for him almost as much of a dance of positronic feedback of the most pleasant kind, an affection he had once not thought himself capable of, a happiness he hadn't thought possible, either.
He bends close to Ned's ear, and when he speaks it's hardly more than a whisper, his voice is so soft. "I don't understand why you would do this, Ned, but I thank you."
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The lowness of Daneel's voice and the tickle of his breath against Ned's ear sends a pleasant shiver down his spine. There is a time and a place for discussion; it's not that Ned is totally uninterested in talking about the cultural significance of dancing (and the time of day, and the beach, and all the other combined factors which make this moment as perfect as it is), but at the moment, it seems much simpler to explain in other ways.
"This is why," he murmurs, bringing his hands up to cup Daneel's face. He leaves them there a moment, looks into Daneel's eyes, waits for him to pull away if he wants to. When he doesn't, Ned leans in slowly and kisses him, eyes slipping shut. It is not an insistent kiss, but not a hesitant one, either; it is without fear.
Ned runs his thumb along Daneel's cheekbone; Daneel feels both human and not-human and touching him is different in a way that sets Ned at his ease. That subtle, itching wrongness he always feels when he touches other organic living things is absent, and yet in every other sense Daneel feels like anyone else. His skin doesn't just look the same as a human's: it has the right warmth and texture and elasticity.
None of this is anywhere near the surface of Ned's thoughts at the moment, if he could even be said to have thoughts. His mind is a haze of variegated happiness, a bright collage of love and comfort, joy and excitement, gentleness and peace.
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And the list of things he would not do for Ned is very small.
His hand is on the back of Ned's neck, gently cradling him, a small and essential caress. So much intensity of emotion, so much fragility, so much kindness: everything he admires in humanity, crystallised in one intensely important person, and yet Ned is more than that, too, so much more.
He is present in Ned's mind, listening, feeling, completely overwhelmed by the emotion that he's somehow responsible for. At times like this, it's much easier to believe that he's a person.
And in turn, that makes it easier to accept why Ned would expend such effort on him, because he can very easily justify the reverse.
"I am trying very hard to be worth this sort of effort." He kisses Ned again, but his mind is spinning. It's just so much to process.
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After a little while he hears the music pause, remembers that it isn't just a recording but Galen on the other end of the connection, patiently still playing. Perhaps overhearing bits of their conversation or, Ned thinks with a pang of both amusement and embarrassment, some small sound that would give away the fact that they've stopped dancing and are just standing there kissing now.
He breaks away from the kiss, leaving his forehead touching Daneel's and says, in a normal speaking voice that nonetheless seems loud after their softer conversation, "Thanks, man. I owe you one." With that he shuts off the connection, turns his full attention back to Daneel.
"This is, without a doubt, the best date I've ever been on." He punctuates that statement with a quick peck, asks, "You wanna keep walking? Or dance some more - I could always hum?"
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Daneel seeks out Ned's hands, clasps them in his own. This is all almost too much, too good, and he can't quite process it. He'll remember this music, this moment, perfectly, forever, and it will be one of his more treasured memories.
"You needn't hum. Let us walk some more."
With his forehead against Ned's, he gives a small sigh, a satisfied and happy sound. There's more in his mind than he can effectively communicate, and it's astonishingly delightful.
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"I have enough experience to tell you that no date is way better than a bad one, so it wasn't like you were missing too much."
The implication of this is, of course, that Ned has been on primarily bad dates, in the past. He's hinted as much to Daneel, at various times and in various situations - that his romantic experiences weren't exactly ideal. Ned isn't particularly interested in dwelling on them in great detail, at the moment: why let the pall of the past come into his perfectly happy present? But he wants Daneel to be aware of the contrast, at least. That he is better than the human men and women who Ned had been on dates with in his life.
"So what's romance like on Aurora?" Ned has gotten glimpses and hints about this topic: that humans and robots were not supposed to be emotionally involved, that a woman had married or considered herself married to another robot just like Daneel. But what about more broadly? Their childrearing practices were so different that Ned is questioning a lot he'd taken for granted. "Do people still... date, or is that an outmoded concept? Are there laws about who can date who, like, men dating other men or... anything like that?"
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"That exact term is not used, but a parallel custom is certainly typical." Curiosity is not surprising, but whether this is relevant is another question. Not that he minds.
"There are no laws regarding who may be taken as a lover. Certainly so long as all parties are consenting adults, gender matters little. It's well known that some individuals simply prefer their own gender in such matters."
Outside of procreation, he sees little difference.
"Marriage is generally reserved for when there is an intent to produce children, as it must be confirmed that the parents are not closely related. Sex among friends for purely recreational purposes is not uncommon either."
Sex is important. He knows that. For beyond reproduction, it has an important social role. He had a small taste of that, once. Frankly, he's surprised that it hasn't come up with Ned yet.
"Spacers live long lives. More than one marriage is not uncommon."
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Ned watches the stars as they walk, the darkness increasing around them, the wind coming in off the ocean pleasantly cool and salt-scented. It's interesting to him, knowing where Daneel is coming from on all of this. It seems a good idea to get an idea of how he thinks about these kinds of things, and give him some idea of the state of things in his own world.
"People aren't quite so, ah..." he struggles for the right word, "...open-minded? Where I'm from. It used to be a lot worse." Ned thinks of what River told him about Erik and Charles, holds Daneel's arm a little tighter. "And not everyone is the same of course, but plenty of people still don't approve of same-sex couples or sex outside marriage or divorce or any of that. You aren't supposed to have too much sex but not too little, either. It always seemed so silly to me. To judge someone based on that kind of thing. As long as they aren't hurting anyone, what does it matter?"
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"This is how I see it, Ned. There will always be sex for procreational purposes, but social or recreational sex is something quite different. To limit what people are permitted to do will only bring harm."
The matter is very clear in his mind. It's hardly even something that could be open for debate. What Kobra told him about sex connecting people is probably more true than Daneel realises.
"It is true that it is a highly cultural matter. Earth is far less open, more puritanical." He pauses, considering the issue. He's not sure he's fit to pass judgement on moral concerns. This is an issue that is obviously of import to Ned, and his attention is far more focused on Ned than the night sky.
He thinks that's appropriate for a date.
"At the same time, rapid cultural changes would be met with resistance, which would be harm in itself. That change cannot be forceful."
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Daneel marks a sea change in his life, in his way of thinking about himself. He'd gotten so used to the idea of himself as someone excluded from romance, from desire. But that's different now. He is drawn to Daneel as he's never been drawn to anyone before. He wants to spend every second with him, tell Daneel all his thoughts and hear all his in return. To talk with him and also be silent with him, to go to sleep and wake up beside him.
And, he thinks, drawing closer as the temperature of the air around them dips, he undeniably enjoys being physically affectionate with Daneel. Ned likes dancing with him, kissing him, thinks he wouldn't mind something a bit more. The situation is, however, complicated. He's not used to being the one on this side of the equation; he wants to proceed cautiously. But there's no hurry. Daneel isn't pressuring him, demanding things of him, questioning him; he is patient and kind.
Ned exhales, shivers involuntarily. The sea breeze has shifted, sometime in the last few minutes, from pleasantly cool to cold. He stops walking, slips an arm around Daneel's waist. He doesn't want to turn back for the house just yet. Ned knows there can be other walks in the future, that even when they get back he won't have to part from Daneel, but still he waits. This is their first date - at least their first proper, official one. He doesn't want it to end. He wants to hold onto this and the dull roar of happiness in every fiber of his being.
Eventually, though, the cold air starts to bite at his ears and the tips of his nose. "We should head back," he says, "Unless you want me to turn into an icicle." Ned steals one last kiss, brief, playful, grinning. The tip of his nose has gone pink with the chill. "Thanks for the greatest date of my life, Daneel."