kore_logs | Whatever Kind of Puzzle

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Whatever Kind of Puzzle

Who: Daneel and Ned
What: Confessions
Where: Their house
When: After the earthquake.

The earthquake... well, it's hardly the first one, but it brings home the importance of a few things, and Daneel returns to the house with a degree of urgency. He is looking for Ned. He needs to reassure himself that all is well.

And if he has an ulterior reason for needing to see Ned, well, he'll get to that.

"Ned?" He calls into the house, but he follows what he senses with his mind rather than his ears. The familiar sensation of Ned's mind is, by now, something he's closely attuned to. Just knowing Ned is nearby is reassuring, an easing of resistance in positronic relays, and it gives him strength for what he's decided on, too. It would be selfish to keep Ned near him at all times, he knows that, but he looks forward to how he feels whenever Ned is near.

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Ned isn't in the house when Daneel first returns, but he comes back not long after. He's clutching an ice pack to his head and walking stiffly, but he's walking. There are no broken bones, and Martha had given him a fistful of pills to take for the pain. He'll have some colorful bruises for a while, but nothing worse, and he's grateful for that.

All the same, he lets himself in the door with the careful, controlled movements of someone trying not to look like he's in pain. He just wants to sit down on the couch, far away from anything that might fall on him, and not move for several hours.

He hears Daneel calling for him almost at once, shouts back, "Down here!"

It's with relief that he realises Ned is here, and distress that he senses pain, and Daneel immediately rushes down to his side, takes him by his hands. "Ned, you are safe. I am glad. I was having difficulty with my communicator and could not reach you."

He offers a kiss, a gentle gesture, and begins leading him into the house to settle him somewhere comfortable.

"You're injured. Is it severe?"

Daneel really does move quickly when he wants to, Ned thinks. It doesn't seem to take him any time at all to cross the room and be at Ned's side, even more grave, solicitous, and affectionate than usual. Ned kisses him back, and not just by reflex; he's very glad to see that Daneel is unhurt. Logically he knows that Daneel's particular construction makes him more resistant to harm than a human, but he also knows that, if Daneel were to get hurt, he wouldn't heal in the same way a human would.

"Just a bump on the head," he reassures, continuing his progress towards the couch. "Couple bruises. One of those big bookcases in the library fell on me." He doesn't want to worry Daneel by recounting the fact, but he thinks it's rather impressive that he came away this unscathed, considering. That had been one hell of an earthquake. "Nothing a little time and some painkillers won't fix."

Edited 2013-09-10 04:16 (UTC)

Daneel looks intently at Ned for a moment, but he sits them down. Having Ned here, in sight, is many times more reassuring than wondering about his well-being.

"I am glad you are relatively unharmed. I hope you will heal quickly."

He's still holding on to Ned's hands. Ned is... human, and there's a certain fragility that goes along with that. It's always been something of which he's been uncomfortably unaware. He can't escape that fact. If they are not separated in another way, Daneel will outlive Ned. It's reality and he can't lie about it, not even to himself. That doesn't mean he's eager to think on it.

"Can I fetch you something? Would you like something to drink?"

"I usually do," Ned reassures, and it's true. There have even been times in his life when he's wondered if he might heal a just a shade too quickly, wondered if perhaps there is another dimension to his powers that is more difficult to quantify and predict. How would he test that, after all? He had no control group, and before he came here, he certainly wasn't going to go up to a doctor and ask them if his healing patterns were normal. On the off-chance that they weren't, it would lead to suspicion, and curiosity, and then as likely as not all manner of horrors.

"No fetching necessary," he insists, propping the ice pack between his head against the back of the sofa and lacing his fingers with Daneel's. He feels compelled to reassure him even more, because Ned knows how painful it is for Daneel, to see any human hurt. To see him in particular hurt. "I'm really okay, Daneel. Considering the size of that earthquake, this is nothing."

Daneel is quiet for a moment, holding Ned's hand and considering. "I was concerned, when you were not here," he admits, enfolding Ned's hand in both of his.

He makes himself vulnerable through this affection, he knows, but he can't break away from it, either.

He adjusts his hands around Ned's fingers. "I have been considering something seriously for some time now, Ned. I have reached a decision, and I wish to inform you of it, as it directly concerns you."

Daneel always has a certain solemnity about him that has, over the course of their time together, grown calming to Ned. Others might find him unemotional, but Ned knows that isn't true. He is not demonstrative, or raucous, but what others might see as unchanging blankness comes in an almost infinite variety of shades. Ned has seen many of them, seen Daneel gravely curious, gravely confused, gravely surprised, gravely concerned, gravely insecure, and gravely affectionate.

All of that, however, is not enough to prevent a stab of sudden nervousness when Daneel announces in such a serious way that he has made a decision in regards to Ned. To him, a decision sounds awfully like a resolution to change something about the situation between the two of them, and he still - and probably will always - associates change with danger, with loss, with things getting worse. He does his best to seem impassive, though his heart is suddenly beating faster and his imagination runs away with the usual suppositions. That Daneel's decided for some screwed-up faux-logical reason that it's safer for Ned if he keeps away, etcetera, etcetera.

He does his best to freeze that worry in place, to delay it until he knows what the decision is, but there's an anxious suspense in his voice when he asks sharply, "What?"

"Please be calm," Daneel says at once, and he squeezes Ned's hands gently. "I hope that this decision is something that will please you."

To punctuate this statement, Daneel leans forward to kiss Ned, gently. He will come to his point slowly, methodically, in his way, but he can't have Ned be so anxious in the meantime.

"You have said to me several times now that you love me. This has troubled me, because what you feel for me is not the same as what I feel for you. I feel great affection for you, but the nature of my emotions are necessarily different from human emotions." He knows that very well, from both observation and personal experience. "I lacked the context to conclude whether or not I am capable of 'love,' as you think of it, in any robotic equivalent, or indeed if there can be any robotic equivalent.

"I have, however, been thinking on this problem for some time, and I had a very enlightening conversation with Meyer on the matter. It was suggested to me that love is necessarily different between any individuals, that there is, in fact no one correct definition for love even among humans, but many definitions. If this is the case, then perhaps I am able to define my own emotions as seems appropriate without being concerned about exact analogues."

Daneel is very serious, and looking very hard at Ned. "I have decided, after much thought, that I can truthfully say that I love you."

Ned kisses him back, tries to quieten the restless half-questions running through his mind so that he can listen properly. If Daneel thinks it will please him, it can't be anything that horrible. He hangs on Daneel's every word; it's a subject they've addressed before, but never at very great length. Ned has always believed that Daneel is capable of love, but he knows it's not something he can just tell him and have him believe. It's a conclusion he would need to come to on his own.

And, from the sound of it, he has.

Apparently, perhaps without even meaning to, Meyer had hit on the strand of logic necessary for Daneel to understand that there was no one way of experiencing love that he was not good enough or not human enough to access. Ned is fiercely grateful to him for it, for just a moment. He makes a mental note to thank him for it later, and returns his attention to the careful progression of Daneel's declaration.

When he finishes, Ned doesn't say anything at first. He ducks his head forward, grinning so hard his cheeks hurt. It's a strangely physical sensation: a happiness that overwhelms him, leaves him feeling weightless and radiant. Daneel's hands are still in his, and all he can do for a few seconds is tighten his hold on them, let out a breathless half-laugh.

He'd known that Daneel cared about him, that he was - as Daneel had put it - a 'unique situation' to him. That he made Daneel happy, in his own Daneelish way. That Daneel considered him a friend, and put much more store in that word than could be explained. But it's somehow entirely different, hearing him actually say the words aloud. It leaves him mute with a joy that is bordering on ecstasy.

This is a confusing reaction, but it's also extremely gratifying. It's unfortunate he could not have reached this decision sooner, for Ned's sake, but he has reached it now, at least.

Words seem irrelevant. Daneel can read the joy in Ned's mind all too easily, and it is the greatest, most valuable thing. He did this. He did this just be being willing to examine his own abilities, his own feelings.

He kisses Ned, gently, delicately, and then draws back to rest their foreheads together. He could ask if he's made Ned happy, but he knows he has. He trusts he isn't wrong, but saying so is beside the point. He loves. He is not human, but he loves, and maybe that's a sign that he really can consider himself to be a person in his own right.

Ned places one hand on either side of Daneel's neck, keeping him close, running his fingertips through Daneel's hair. He is impressed for perhaps the thousandth time at the amount of detail that had been put into making his body as close to a human's as possible, at the way his hair goes downy as it trails from the base of his skull down to the back of his neck

"That's... certainly a nice thing to hear," he murmurs, and he can't seem to stop beaming. "Can't think of the last time someone's said that to me."

It's all a bit overwhelming. Just a few months back there had been no one in his life but Digby. Now he's here, in this place, with River who loves him like a sister, and Daneel who loves him enough to redefine the analogues he draws between his own emotions and human ones. To love and be loved in return is a wonderful, unknown thing, for Ned.

"He's right. There's no single way to define love. Everyone feels it in different ways for different people and for different reasons."

"I think I understand this."

He pulls himself close, wrapping himself around Ned protectively, resting his head on Ned's shoulder. "I am glad this pleases you. I do mean it."

Perhaps how he felt for Giskard was similar, but at the same time... this was different. Perhaps love was different depending on the object, perhaps that was always the way it is. How could one possibly reliably recognise that?

"I want you to be happy."

"I am happy," Ned reassures, and it is true. Despite the odds, considering it wasn't all that long ago he was pinned under a bookcase, he feels light and elated. The words keep running through his head in a dizzy echo and he asks, burying his grinning face in Daneel's shoulder, "Say it again?"

He needs to hear Daneel say it again, now that he knows what is coming. Needs to hear him say it with different inflections, different expressions on his grave face. Ned thinks it is quite possible that he could never get sick of hearing Daneel tell him he loves him.

"I love you, Ned." Daneel lifts his hand to cup Ned's cheek, and he turns his head to kiss him. Actions are just as important as words, and even if kissing itself is not essential to him, it is to Ned, and it's an expression of what he's saying.

"You are unique. When I am in your company it is easier for me to think, the pull of gravity seems less upon me. There are only a very small number of individuals who have produced similar reactions to this, and they have all been different."

Ned listens to him with something not unlike disbelief. He doesn't think that Daneel is lying, that he would say any of this if he weren't absolutely sure about it, but it's almost too much to believe. He's known for years that one of the chief sources of happiness in his life was making other people happy. There have been times when he didn't think very well of that trait, that he accused himself of being a doormat, of being needy, of requiring other people for his own happiness (and other people could never be relied on).

But there's something so different about making strangers and acquaintances happy, in passing, and the kind of feeling that Daneel is telling him he inspires. It's powerful, and a little frightening, but mostly it's magnificent.

"You, uh-" he is trying to echo Daneel, but he is having a hard time speaking through the smile and in between brief, but sweet kisses, "You are unique, too. When I'm around you I just feel... better. Like I'm a better person. You make me feel like the person I want to be. Like I'm good, just the way I am. No one's done that in a long time."

"You are good." Daneel believes this completely, utterly, and he kisses Ned gently, drawing him into his arms. "There is no need for you change for any reason."

How he came to be a part of this is still something of a mystery to him, but it is a good thing, a valuable thing. He takes Ned's hand in his, kisses his palm gently.

"I do not wish to be human. I am what I am. With you, I want very much to achieve something... greater, even if it isn't humanity."

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Whatever Kind of Puzzle

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