"I-I had a dream last night." Bing stutters while Google is tweaking with the wiring in his right hand. It's been playing up again and Google is finally free to give it a look. It's been a busy time what with…well…Google's just been busy is all.

"Did you?" The disinterest in Google's tinny robotic voice is the same as it ever is when Bing tries to engage him in conversation.

"Y-yeah." he waits but Google says nothing else and Bing's eyes slip to the side as he does his best not to just fall into the silence that he knows Google's come to expect of him. "You a-asked m-me if I was o-okay."

Google frowns seeming to consider it for a moment before he shakes his head. "That doesn't sound like me."

…No…No it doesn't. Bing's head drops and he picks at a piece of fluff on his pants as he falls into the silence. It's a nice thought but a foolish one. Google asking how he is, wondering if Bing is all right. As though Google could ever see him as anything but a defect. There's a harsh tug on his wrist.

"Stop shifting, or I'll leave you like this another week." Google's words are harsh and biting. Nothing like the Google in his dream. Why was he even bringing this up?

"S-sorry." Bing mutters, doing his best to keep from moving as Google goes back to working on his wrist. It's not like he can look after himself, so the least Bing could do to show his gratitude to Google, would be to just let him do his job. It's another five minutes before Google lets his wrist go, straightening his tools, and without so much as looking at the cyborg, tells Bing that it's done.

"I'm not going to fix this again, understand?" he says as he stands, and they both know that it isn't a question. As he turns away, Google tells Bing to close the door on his way out.

Bing flexes the fingers on his robotic hand once before just standing and slowly making his way out. It was so nice of Google to take the time to sort it. He really shouldn't keep him any more.

As he reaches the door, Google calls out to him and Bing stops, one hand on the door frame as he turns. Google is stood facing him, that same stern look he always wears.

"Real robots don't dream."

Bing shrinks under the unspoken accusation. Right. Right. He mutters an apology as he leaves. Just as the door closes, he could almost swear that he hears Google mumble "Idiot."

Yeah. That sounds more like Google.