It’s been exactly 187 since you and Chandler started working on your project together. No one in the friend group even knows that you work together, the other day when the subject came up about jobs and who had which, Monica started going on and on about a chef who "was gonna be the end of her". Joey talked about a movie he might star in, Ross talked about the new exhibition they were starting to build.
But when it got to you and Chandler, they just strolled right past, muttering about accounting and numbers. But the fact is, the past couple of months you and Chandler have been working on a deal that would make the entire company bigger.
The project is even exciting, but lately it's not the project that excites you the most about your workday, it's the fact that every day when you meet in, you get to talk and spend the entire day with Chandler.
In the beginning you weren't thinking too much of it, he's your friend and obviously you would talk when you spend everyday together with each other.
But now you're talking about personal things, and childhoods, what it was like to grow up in your respective families. Sometimes it's hard to understand how someone so amazing comes from his family, not that there's anything especially wrong with his family, but its clear his parents had more focus on them and their problems than the fact that they were raising a child together.
Hello!!! Just wanted to ask if there are any more parts to the Google and Bing story? It's genuinely one of my absolute favourites and I come back to it all the time.
Anyway, I hope you're having a good day/night.
"And here I thought we'd never agree on anything."
In which Google and Bing manage to find common ground.
Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3
TW: cursing, capitalism
Pages: 32 - Words: 11500
[Requests: OPEN]
You woke up to birdsong and sunrays, both of which wormed their way through the blinds of your window like a kitten searching for warmth in winter. You also woke up to a large bang that bordered on an explosion, but you were choosing to ignore that for the moment because otherwise, you were going to lose it.
Slowly, you peeled yourself from your bedsheets and searched with bleary eyes for a suitable outfit. Pajamas were comfortable, but today was marked for a food run, so something more socially acceptable was required.
Something clattered noisily against tile. You gritted your teeth.
Jeans and a t-shirt. That was normal and comfortable and wouldn’t draw much attention, which was just what you needed for going out in public. It wasn’t that you were infamous within your town or anything, you were just looking to avoid a select few people who could make your life incredibly difficult. As long as they didn’t see you, you would be okay.
Yelling and another crash. Your hands formed fists around the clothing.
Your room came with an ensuite bathroom, so you were able to stay in your sleepwear while brushing your teeth and dousing your face in water. Anything to prepare you for the day ahead. Not that you needed to prepare for anything, it was all going to go just swimmingly because what was there to mess it up? Nothing, nothing at all, absolutely nothing.
You hated being wrong more than you liked living in ignorant bliss, so you rushed to throw off your clothes before something could happen. It felt like there was a watch, a timer, a distant doomsday clock that was ticking down to something going wrong, and despite trying to force yourself into optimism, a sense of dread surrounded you and—
“Dude!”
“Goddammit!” you shouted, letting your shirt fall over your head and sprinting to the staircase.
Somehow, you had managed to go the entire evening without any major mishaps, but you could only be so fortunate for so long, and it seemed your luck had run out at the stroke of midnight. Because you were a fleshy bag of blood and bones, you needed sleep. Bing and Google, however, did not, and that meant they had free rein over your house while you were in your room.
As you threw yourself down the stairs, you wondered how nobody had called the police yet, even yourself.
Your feet touching the last step, you cautiously glanced around. The front room was empty and, thankfully, just the same as you had left it. There wasn’t much for them to break, but that didn’t mean you were any less glad. The mirror, the shoe rack, the runner along the corridor, all of it was as it was supposed to be. You even picked up a little trinket on a shelf to check its integrity and found not one crack.
You sighed.
You were stalling, you knew that, you just didn’t want to have to deal with the kitchen, especially because the androids that had been making enough sound to cause an earthquake had gone silent. Whether it was from you finally getting downstairs, or from the severity of whatever they had done, you didn’t know, and you really, really didn’t want to find out.
When the whisperings picked up again, you steeled your nerves and marched down the hallway. You had the brief impulse to dart down into your lab, but that thought was wiped from your mind as you peeked around the corner.
You didn’t get a word out before Bing was pointing at Google, shouting, “He started it!”
The other man only stared at you with that deadpan expression; anyone else might have thought it was completely blank, but you had long since figured out the subtle differences in emotion. The skill hadn’t faded after your time apart, so you were able to see the slight lowering of his brow and the set of his jaw that silently told you, ‘No, he started it’.
You didn’t know who to believe, but, quite frankly, you didn’t have the energy to care. No, you had to save it for the inevitable deep-clean required for the state of your kitchen.
You took a step forward and immediately slipped on wet tile, barely able to catch yourself and avoid cracking your head open like one of the eggs beneath your feet. You weren’t able to see the countertops beneath all the mess of flour, milk, and, again, egg – yolk, shell, and all. Cabinets were left ajar, which wouldn’t have been a problem had one of the doors not been completely removed from a hinge, and your freezer was spilling chill freely into the room on top of the splatters of water and semi-melted ice.
You looked at the sink, decided you weren’t going to address that nightmare for the sake of all of your health, and then turned your gaze back onto Google and Bing.
You squinted at them.
“Hey, hey, no need to get mad yet, dude!” Bing yelped, making his way through the minefield toward you.
“Yet?”
“Or at all!”
Over Bing’s shoulder, you stared at Google. He stared at you.
You were given time to wage a war of wills as Bing got himself trapped between the fridge and a moat of clumpy, unidentifiable liquid. If there was one thing you had learned in your experience with your first android, it was that he was stubborn beyond what you thought was possible for a computer. Hell, you had been the one to code him, you were supposed to know his limits, and yet he surpassed them every time you faced off against him. However, you had a habit of imparting a little of your personality on your creations, no matter how much you tried not to, and that bullheadedness was not something he was unique in.
Crossing your arms, you felt the pull of a frown against your lips.
Google’s irises swirled with a frigid gray.
In the background, Bing registered the growing tension and started to stutter through a platitude, all the while slowing and unwillingly dropping into the splits over a small lake of milk.
The problem that Google was met with was that you weren’t just angry, no, you were absolutely livid. His pride and logic – that it wasn’t his fault because he didn’t start it – were no match for the fury broiling beneath your skin. Your androids ran on electricity, but, in this moment, you ran on rage.
Just when Bing was forced to put a hand to the ground to stop himself sliding, Google spoke in an unapologetic tone, “I apologize.”
“For what?” you asked, fingers tapping against your shirt in a steady rhythm.
He paused, but you weren’t going to stop there, and he had to keep talking. “I apologize for creating a mess that you won’t have to deal with because we will clean it.”
“Good. Thank you.”
He nodded, and you both turned your attention to the remaining victim of your wrath, who was currently struggling to stay in a downward dog position.
“Yo, I will literally do anything if you help me!”
Okay, his apology could wait. You were admittedly more lenient towards Bing if only because he had been a delight for the last three months. Compared to Google, he was an angel, and you didn’t feel right putting him through more discomfort than necessary.
You happily hop-scotched over to him and provided a ledge for him to pull himself up with. Lifting a two-hundred-pound hunk of metal at eight-fifteen in the morning was not part of your exercise routine, after all.
When Bing was on his feet, his hand still secured tightly on your shoulder, a bashful smile spread across his lips.
“Bro, I’m really sorry,” he muttered, so surprisingly earnest that you couldn’t help but chuckle.
“You’re fine, Bing, just- just help clean and don’t do it again.” It was then that you took stock of what had been thrown about. They didn’t just raid your cabinets, obviously, they had also taken things from your fridge as well. It shocked you that no damage had been done to the door of that appliance, though you had yet to look inside.
“What were you two trying to do?” You hesitated to say ‘cook’ because they were a far cry away from that, but it had also been Google’s attempt at making a meal that landed him back in your care, so it was still a fifty-fifty.
“Make breakfast,” Bing explained as he scooped up a handful of flour.
So, they were trying to cook.
You felt the bottoms of your feet grow moist in a puddle of milk.
Oh no.
While they cleared up the kitchen, you would have to start on a software update for both of them. You didn’t know what the issue was, whether it was their understanding of cooking or, even worse, their hand-eye coordination, but this was a problem that needed fixing, and fast.
You’d just have to forgo breakfast for a little while longer. “I’ll be in the lab,” you announced, turning around but being unable to erase the mental image of your poor, poor sink from your mind.
Before you could get out of the room, though, Bing called out, “Hey, uh, where’s your stuff?”
“My stuff?”
“Like cleaning stuff?”
You were suddenly wary about giving them free access to bleach, but you supposed they had to fix this mess somehow. Just as you opened your mouth to answer, though, Google’s voice caught your attention.
“Have you not cleaned before?” He sounded an odd mix of disgusted and prideful that you hadn’t seen Google hold before. Obviously, you’d heard both separately and far too often, but this had you furrowing your brow.
“Course I have,” Bing replied, indignant, “just, uh, not this much…”
You supposed him having been so nice to hang around since his creation was in part due to what you made him do. You were pretty damn confident in your programming – or, you had been, before an ingredient bomb went off in your house – so you hadn’t felt the need to test Bing’s skills as much as you had Google. Plus, the punishment of deep cleaning the stove was never needed, so there had been no reason to enforce all those difficult chores. Therefore, you had never needed to show him where the more industrial-sized equipment was.
Now, you were regretting it. Not only was he ignorant of a key part of his programming, but he was also ignorant of something that Google wasn’t. He was going to hold that over Bing’s head for as long as he functioned, and there was a high chance that he was going to hold perceived favoritism over yours, too.
Trying to avoid looking at Google, you started to say, “It’s in the hall—”
That same man cut you off, saying, “I know where it is,” and moving past you with a subtle yet insufferable air of smugness about him, like a perfume that always lay just below the surface.
The next few days were going to be exhausting, you could tell, but there was a part of you that had missed this. Google was insufferable, plain and simple, but he was never unhelpful. Begrudging, yes, but his candor was always appreciated when he pulled you out of mental ruts. If you were spiraling about budgets and wires and codes that refused to work, he was there to go through the possible problems and solutions with you.
You would never admit it to his face, but he helped you a lot more than you originally thought possible.
As long as he pulled through in this situation, he was back in your good book.
You turned around to follow Google out, already running through the troubleshooting process, when Bing spoke again behind you.
“Oh, and hey!”
“What is it?”
The tired look you levelled him with was supposed to make him consider the severity of what he was going to say, but he simply took a step closer to you, finally a good distance from the mess. The fatigue became curiosity as his grin morphed into a smirk.
Leaning an inch down to stare you straight in the eye, he said, “Figured you’d wanna put some pants on before you go downstairs, but, y’know…”
The rage from earlier coalesced in your face, turning it as hot as magma beneath the surface of the earth. Bing’s laughter made it worse, and yet you remained frozen for a second as you readjusted the last ten minutes in your mind. While it was a confidence booster that you were able to intimidate Google into backing down with just a shirt on, you were simultaneously mortified – and, what was worse, you were still standing in front of Bing.
“I mean, I’m not complaining,” he said just seconds before you sprinted out of the kitchen and back up the stairs, burning holes into the wood beneath your feet.
A few hours later, you were waiting in front of your door – this time, with pants – for your androids to emerge from the basement. It doubled as your lab and their bedroom, temporarily shared despite the many objections they had raised the night before. Briefly, you wondered if that was why they were so argumentative this morning, but that thought was lost when the two men appeared in the hallway.
“Good to go?” you asked, swinging your keys around a finger.
Google nodded while Bing threw out one of those pinky-thumb things that you could never remember the name of. With that confirmed, you threw open the door and stepped aside for your boys to follow.
You lived in the sweet spot between the outskirts and the center of your city; you could freely harbor two androids without getting on an HOA’s nerves, and you didn’t have to own a car to get groceries. The local store wasn’t big, and you often had to get a bus if you needed pieces for your mechanics, but you liked it well enough that you didn’t think you’d ever move away.
You did take some precautions regarding your companions, though, considering that you were much more likely to get stopped if they had their respective company logos plastered on them. The only things you had to swap out were the shirts. The styles were easy matches – all you needed were a blue polo and a sleeveless tank top – but you found a problem when it came to putting them on, one that had you walking in front of them to avoid a rerun of Bing’s ceaseless teasing.
Now, you theoretically knew that their bodies had to be built so they could fit the fans and the wires and the servos. You were the one who had to make them fit, so it was partially your fault in the first place…
But, dammit, did the shirts have to be so tight on them? Bing’s arms were normally exposed, but you could see the outline of his shoulder blades at the back, and Google’s chest looked like it could knock you out on its own – or, you had seen that because you refused to look at them until you were standing in the store’s small parking lot.
“Okay,” you hummed, pulling out a list and skimming the scrawls, “we’ll hit the dairy aisle first, then I need to pick up some vegetables, but I’ll get those on the way to…”
You continued to speak, but the narration became background noise to Bing. Instead, he shot a glance out of the corner of his eye at the android next to him. The other one.
When you had introduced them to one another, he had made sure to stay friendly. He had no reason to hate him, he didn’t hold it against him that he was from a rival company, and he was largely looking forward to knowing another android.
That went all downhill when Bing realized what an absolute prick he was. Sir High and Mighty, King of Search Engines, Mr. Expressing-A-Positive-Emotion-Will-Kill-Me, he was impossible to get along with, and he was baffled how someone like you could create someone like Google.
Even now, he was looking around the scene, somehow bored and revolted at the same time. Disgust seemed to be his default, and it remained there even as his eyes landed on Bing. It was then that he turned, too, to look at Google. Your back was to them, and what you didn’t know wouldn’t hurt you.
Sticking out his tongue would have been immature, which was why he simply smiled and whispered, “I get that you’re not, like, good with the public, so ya could just go back to the house ‘n let me help ‘em.”
Google didn’t react, but you were still talking, so he had time to get under his skin.
“Just sayin’, ya might just make another mess,” he said, “I don’t know ‘bout you, but I don’t think they’ll be as nice next time.”
“I was not the only one involved in this morning’s incident.”
And there it was. Google’s expression hadn’t changed, but he was reacting. If he had spent a little longer with him, he might have recognized a few physical hints of his anger, but, for now, the verbal proof was fine.
“Yeah, but they like me. And I’m good with people—” Bing let his smile slip into something more biting, “—and I saw what happened at that conference. I don’t think they’ll put up with more trouble from you.”
Bing really thought he would last longer, but Google was storming off into the store before you were finished talking. You stopped short in the middle of your sentence, staring in confusion at him and then shifting your attention to the remaining android.
“What happened?”
His grin softened again. “Eh, who knows? The old man’s prob’ly just tired.”
You opened your mouth to respond, probably something about last night’s noise, but you closed it just as quickly, gaze drifting once more to the store. Somewhere in your furrowed brow, in your squinted eyes, in your dipped mouth, there was worry.
For that asshole?
Well, Bing couldn’t have that.
“Come on,” he said, throwing an arm around your shoulder, “we’ll catch up to ‘im. He’s probably got your list cued up to his brain or whatever.”
He steered you towards the store, making sure to snag a cart on the way past the door because he was a nice guy, and peered at the paper in your hand. He hadn’t been joking about Google’s connection to your online shopping list; your house was full to the brim with tech, and that included an Alexa that you dictated your groceries to. Bing had noticed you did it a lot when you were in the lab, hands typing away at the laptop and too busy to use a pen, but then you’d reiterate the same things onto the physical notepad upstairs anyway.
At first, it had confused him, then it made him laugh, then, when he met Google, he realized it was just an old habit. Your first android had been given access to all of your devices, regardless of the same company or not, but Bing hadn’t.
One part of him knew it was because you’d learned from your mistakes with Google.
Another part of him, buried too close to his coolant pump, thought that it was because you didn’t trust him with that level of control.
But he shrugged that off; he was awesome, he knew that, you knew that, everyone knew that! Besides, he didn’t have time for wallowing in anxiety, you were already in front of the shelves of dairy products, reading through the labels for the best milk.
Next to you stood Google, whom Bing couldn’t resist sticking his tongue out at this time. In return, he received a glare.
Yeah, he was awesome.
He stayed riding the high of an ego boost all the way through the shopping portion of the trip, from the produce section to the laundry detergent. The time passed with little issue beyond the looks the androids sent one another while you were distracted, none of which you noticed or had as much effect as Bing’s first teasing had. The experience was shaping up to be relatively unsubstantial, and he was excited to get back to the house before the Amateur Skateboarding Series began.
However, it was when you were returning the shopping cart to its place that you snapped your fingers and cursed under your breath, attracting the attention of the men at your sides.
“I forgot the flour,” you groaned, running a hand across your eyes. It wasn’t often that you needed to top up on baking ingredients, so it had slipped your mind.
Just as you swiveled on your heel, Bing let the bag he was holding drop to the ground – much to Google’s chagrin – and hopped in front of you.
“Nah, nah, nah, I got it!” he said with his hands gesturing you backward.
You listened, stopping in place, but you still asked uncertainly, “You sure?”
“Course I am, when haven’t I been?”
You sent a look between his eager smile and the front of the store, quickly estimated the time it would take for you to go, and then huffed. You’d never liked sending him off on his own, but he was a big boy, he could handle it.
After an encouraging nod from Bing, you said, “Be quick.”
“Always am.”
He didn’t know what his wink was supposed to imply, but that didn’t stop him from doing it – and it brought that wide-eyed fluster to your face again, so it was a net positive in his eyes. Leaving you alone with Google wasn’t his favorite outcome, but he was going to be quick, and how much damage could he do in a couple of minutes?
A cashier shot Bing a suspicious look as he waltzed back through the doors, but minimum wage wasn’t enough to face off against a man of his build, so he was able to get to the baking section without difficulty.
However, apparently getting there wasn’t going to be the hardest obstacle to overcome.
Before the three of you had left the house, you had gone over some rules. This was after having them change clothes, so both of the androids were keen to hear an explanation, even if Google hid it behind that mask of steel. You got to the point quickly, downright ordering them not to engage with anyone in a suit and sunglasses. Bing had made a joke about Men in Black, but you shut it down immediately. The retrieval staff, as you described, were not to be taken lightly.
He still felt bad about his comment, if only because he had seen firsthand how their presence had affected you. Hell, even when they weren’t around, there was a specific kind of solemnity that leaked into the air surrounding you that told him you were thinking about the end of your contract. Despite Bing favoring your banter, he wasn’t opposed to the sad stuff. He tried his best to comfort you, distract you if you were open to it, offer you a shoulder to lean on when you couldn’t drag yourself out of it.
Therefore – even though he did genuinely believe he could fight them off if he had to, words or fists – he immediately pulled a U-turn and hightailed it out of the store at the first sight of the staff. They, of course, noticed the six-foot-tall man sprinting at Mach speed away from them, let a bag of sugar spill onto the ground, and pursued.
The cashier barely blinked at Bing as he shot past, though they did send a weary look toward the suited group, if only because they’d made a mess that they would have to clean up. Still, they didn’t stop any of them, which left them in a race out the front doors.
You and Google were standing in the same place as Bing had left you, accompanied now by a stranger whom he paid no attention to. In one swift movement, he grabbed you by the waist, reverse clotheslined, and tossed you over his shoulder. There was no time to explain, despite your shocked protest, and he let Google figure out what was happening on his own. Shouts at his back spurred him back into his top speed, he’d apologize later for the bumpy ride, maybe also for interrupting your conversation, definitely not for getting you away from the staff.
Bing’s sneakers skidded against the tarmac as he veered onto the sidewalk, barely avoiding a collision with a couple on a daily stroll. He called back a, “Sorry!” milliseconds before he was too far from them as he sped back in the direction of your house. You were asking questions, too many for him to count and too quickly for him to hear, but he refused to slow down. It was his job to help people, and helping you meant getting you away from the staff. If he was good about it, which he was, you wouldn’t even see them.
The orange of his eyes faded and flared as he pulled up a map of your town. Back alleys, residential lanes, parks, any form of shortcut, Bing took it. From and outside perspective, it probably looked like a kidnapping up until you gave up and let your head drop to his back – although, even then, it didn’t look great.
The saving grace came when the rapid sounds of footsteps faded and all that remained was the gentle sounds of humanity going about their lives. It was only then that Bing slowed to a walk and slid into a shaded gap between two buildings.
The moment of silence was both to let you collect your thoughts and to let Bing survey the area. He was still prepared to run if he needed to, and he kept the map open in the back of his mind, just as a precaution.
Just as he wondered if he had lost everyone, including the other android, Google ducked into the alley with you. He stared at Bing, unblinking, with a poorly disguised glare, but thankfully kept his mouth shut. For now, at least; only a miracle would keep him quiet for long.
A huff from you signified that you had acclimatized to the new situation. You pushed against Bing’s back and managed to look at him without breaking your neck.
“Okay, are you going to put me down now?”
He did so without preamble. As much as he would have liked to tease you about being able to pick you up so easily, your expectant stare told him that it was about time for an explanation.
“So, uh, I didn’t get the flour.”
“I noticed.”
He hesitated to say it outright. As you stood in front of him, you were slightly annoyed but mostly just confused, and he didn’t want to add to your stress with something that didn’t even matter anymore. He’d done his job. That was all that mattered. You didn’t have to know.
Over your shoulder, he met Google’s eyes. Those cold rings of blue. He knew what had happened. If Bing didn’t tell you, he was going to, so he groaned and ran a hand through his hair. It didn’t help alleviate the weight on his shoulders.
“Right, yeah,” he said, “‘cause I saw those retrieval dudes. And they, uh, saw me.”
You blinked rapidly, trying to figure out some kind of coherent response. All you managed to land on, though, was a sharp, “What!?”
“Hey, it’s chill, we got away, it’s all good.”
“But they know you’re functional!” A string of curses tumbled out of your mouth like floodwater through a grate. “What if they tell Microsoft and they send their own group after you?”
One little group of computer nerds was easy to get rid of, but two would be much harder, especially because you would have the combined pressure from two different mega corps bearing down on you.
Annoyingly weakly, Bing said, “We still got time in the contract.”
You shoved your face into your hands and collapsed against one of the brick walls. “What if they want to take you early? What if they take you both?! I can’t do anything, I can’t stop them, I couldn’t stop them last time—!”
The crinkle of plastic sounded from where Google put the groceries down, and Bing watched on in shock as he stepped forward. He had that same blank expression that seemed carved into the metal of his face, but he pulled away your hands and then used his own at your neck to direct your attention towards him with something like gentleness.
“Google’s retrieval staff gave you verbal confirmation that you have a week to fix the problem with my coding. It is arguable that, due to a shared engineer, Bing also experiences this issue. As such, there is a 2.3 percent chance that they will want to take us back to our respective companies before the allotted time is up.”
As he spoke, your breathing slowed down and your shoulders lowered.
“Accounting for the legal issues of Microsoft ending the contract before its final date, there is a 0.6 percent chance that they will be able to remove him from your place of residence without your consent.”
Your hands unclenched, and your head dropped back against the wall.
“Overall, it is incredibly unlikely that anything you are thinking of will happen.”
Despite ending it with a certain attitude, his reasoning had worked, and you were effectively calmed down from your panic. You always did like numbers; they gave you something concrete to build your own impression from.
“Thanks, Google,” you muttered.
Google’s hands returned to his sides as he nodded. Then, in the flick of a switch, he was back to the super-computer stereotype like he’d never broken away from it, which, partly, he hadn’t. He had done all of that with his regular coolness, but there was an attachment that Bing couldn’t name. Like he cared, but not because he wanted to care. It ran deeper.
Something hitting against his arm startled him from his thoughts. Glancing to where the pressure had been, he saw you, your arm held out in front of you from having punched him. Well, he said punched, but it was more like the thwap from a pet’s paw when they wanted attention. Not the eager style of a dog or the standoffish technique of a cat. What was between them? A bird?
It took another thump from you for him to actually focus on you.
“And thank you too, Bing.”
“Oh, uh—” He was so happy that he couldn’t outwardly fluster, “—thanks, babe.”
But he was happier that you could.
When the three of you arrived back at the house, there were a few hours in which you realized just what was happening. Not in a coming-to-consciousness kind of way, but in the way that you were forced to change your routine in subtle but substantial ways. Your daily chore list from just the day before was merging with the one from nine months ago, and, though it wasn’t as clean as you would have liked, you got on with it. This was just how it was going to be, after all, and you wouldn’t have traded it for the world.
Google, on the other hand, was having a harder time.
It wasn’t just his return to you that he had to deal with. If it had been exactly as he had left it, it wouldn’t have been so difficult, but there was one thing standing in his way.
A kinder version of him would have called Bing a person, but he wasn’t a kinder version of him, and he certainly wasn’t after his time away from you. Some little part of him said that Bing himself was that version, but he was also immature and incompetent, things he had been prevented from being in the very code of his CPU. So, no. Not a version of him.
But that begged the question. What was he? He wasn’t a replacement – he wasn’t half as good as Google and never would be – he was barely an android. A glorified Hasbro I-Dog was more his speed, but at least they were easy to care for.
You had wasted your last three months on creating what amounted to a completely average human, who was currently hunched over his skateboard in the garage. He was ostensibly cleaning it, but Google held suspicions about his safe search. He didn’t believe a lot about Bing. He wasn’t even certain that you had built him. That wasn’t an insult to your skills, it was merely observation that told him he wasn’t your style of creation.
Google glared down at your Roomba as it bumped into his foot.
Then again, you did like them goofy and dumb. Google was just the exception, it seemed.
He didn’t bother to knock before he walked into the garage.
“There will be two more humans arriving at six o’clock,” he stated.
Bing paused, cloth halfway down the skateboard’s edge, and hummed. He could have easily nodded or made some complicated gesture so that he could be on his way, but no, he just had to waste both of their time.
Eventually, he said a simple, “Cool,” and went back to wiping down his board.
His programming told him that the interaction was over and he should have been on his way back to the basement already – but Bing’s insufferable grin forced his mouth open again.
“Do try to stay calm this time.”
“And what’s that s’posed to mean?”
He’d said that with a sarcastic scoff, nearly playful, but he wasn’t as good at hiding his emotions as Google was. The irritation was clear in his grip on his board, one finger was already pressing a dip into the griptape, and he wondered how much more it would take to get him to break it.
“Had you not attempted to show off, you would not have endangered us and put the human through mental stress.”
Another finger pushed bespeckled black into the wood beneath. Google wasn’t doing this out of viciousness, not alone, at least. He was simply reminding him that he needed to be more careful. He was reckless and childish and not good for you.
“Their heartrate exceeded 100 beats per minute, which contributes to inflammation and reduced blood flow to the heart. That in turn can lead to insomnia and an increased risk of stroke.”
Four craters formed on the surface, which wouldn’t have been a problem on its own, but the thumb that matched on the other side was soon going to be too much for the wood to handle. Just one more push was what he needed.
Google quickly scoured his files and loaded up the audio file from earlier that day.
His words came out as an exact copy, “I don’t think they’ll put up with more trouble from you.”
Crunch.
Both Google and Bing looked down to the skateboard. The damage wasn’t bad, but there was a fine line leading from the edge to where it had been crushed beneath metal fingers. Easily repairable, and yet
“Oh, you mother—” Bing was cut off by a high-pitch beep, then another as he shot curse after curse after curse to the other android, who watched him smugly. After a few tries, he was interrupted, not by his own censors, but by the ringing of the doorbell.
They were early by ten minutes, but Google already had his fill of fun for the day, so a little inconvenience wasn’t a problem.
Because Bing was still glaring at him with unadulterated rage, and because he could, Google took a few steps back to the garage’s exit, turned, and then said, “Motherfucker.”
The censors were still firing off like a shotgun as he walked through the house to the front room, where you were already standing with the door open. You looked back, slightly confused at the sounds you were hearing, but Google came to a stop behind you and smiled.
You did a double-take, your own smile turning into a grimace as you connected the dots, but you had to shift your attention back to the two people still standing on your doorstep. Or, depending on what you considered people, one tween and one baby.
“Here, let me take her,” you said, putting out your arms for the youngest. Kids holding other kids always set your nerves on fire – it wasn’t that you didn’t like them, you just tended to not trust them with things that had heartbeats and could feel pain.
With Abigail safely settled in the crook of your elbow, you stepped aside for the other child to get inside.
“Cody, this is Google,” you introduced, as the android and the child sized one another up.
Unlike you, it was safe to say that Google’s disgust towards humanity was indiscriminate. Still, he was mature enough to stay quiet, even as the child rolled his eyes.
You ushered Cody through to the kitchen – by now, it was about as clean as it had been yesterday, though the actual damage remained – and waited for him to be out of earshot before you leaned closer to Google.
“Whatever you did, I swear, I will find out.”
“Why do you believe I have done something?”
“You’re happy. Visibly.”
You always were perceptive, and he would be lying if he said he wasn’t enjoying himself. The addition of these little mongrels in the house had dampened his joy to a small flame, of course, but there was still a little smugness flowing through his wiring.
He replied smoothly, “I am not hiding anything.”
You squinted at him. He was sure if you weren’t preoccupied with the baby in your arms, you would have scoured the house for problems. Bing had quietened down, so you weren’t getting any clues there, which left Google off the hook for his teasing while you wandered after Cody.
Just as he put a hand on the basement door, you ducked back into the hallway, but instead of asking where he was going, you poked your head into the garage.
“Think you could help out?”
Good, you were roping Bing into dealing with the things in the kitchen. Although he hated a lot of the chores he was designed to do, childcare was among the worst of them. They changed every day, as if their bodies were too small to contain a personality so they had to keep cycling between bits and pieces. The tiny ones were no better; a baby’s cry could mean any emotion or desire whatsoever, not to mention how the sound pierced the ears.
“I have to figure out dinner, and Cody needs to do his homework.”
All in all, he was happy that you’d given the job to Bing. He could go to the lab and avoid the whole mess of a night, if only he could just get his hand to push the door open.
“Yeah, sure, babe!”
But then again…
Google’s hand slipped from the door and, as if running on their own program, his legs took him towards the sounds of pots and pans as you figured out what you could give a baby without killing it.
Your neighbors really should have checked if you’d ever cared for children before.
He didn’t know why you’d agreed to babysit. When he had been with you, interactions with your neighbors had been few and far between. The only reason you knew they had kids was because Abigail acted as a four AM alarm, but you had agreed so easily to it when their mother had asked in front of the store. Maybe you felt cornered as you waited for Bing, maybe you felt flustered because her argument for why you should do it boiled down to ‘you never go anywhere, take our children’, maybe you felt an obligation to do it as an upstanding member of the community. No matter the reason, you ended up with two kids in your house for the next 24 hours and no way to get rid of them.
It was lucky, then, that you had access to the physical embodiment of the internet’s infinite knowledge right at your fingertips, plus Bing. He’d help, not for the kids’ sake, but for yours.
This apparently started with holding a wriggling maggot out in front of him like two plates.
He immediately regretted his decision to join you.
“Not like that,” you said. “Did you see how I held her earlier? Do that.”
Google shifted into an approximation of a cradle, but he was all too aware of his strength as an android, and crushing the baby was a surefire way to get on your bad side.
“Can I move your arms?”
Despite his discomfort with the situation in general, he nodded. You always asked before you touched him, even when it became second nature to say yes. You’d started doing it when he first gained consciousness, back when a human making physical contact with him felt like ants crawling through the grooves of his joints, back when you and the life that you exuded were insults to his code, back when he hated everything.
“Relax,” you whispered, pulling one of his hands down and pushing the other up.
He still hated a lot of things, including the thing now resting easy in his arms, but some things…
“There you go, you got it,” you said, keeping your voice low so as to not startle Abigail.
Some things had changed.
You patted your hands together, saying, “Right, I’m going to run next door, are you guys all good to stay here?”
You were talking to everyone, but you only received a confirmation from Bing and Cody. Google stayed quiet, practically frozen as though he would kill the baby if he moved any part of him, while said baby blew a meaningless bubble of spit.
Also nodding to yourself, you mumbled, “Great. I’ll be quick.”
You said that, but Google was sure the minutes you would be away were going to be an eternity. The very second in which the front door clicked shut behind you seemed to drag on into an awkward infinity.
“So, whad’ya want to eat?” Bing asked Cody, leaning against the kitchen island that the kid sat at.
“Uh, I don’t know,” came the muttered answer.
“Well, ya got a lotta choice. We can’t cook, so it’s gonna have t’be takeout, ‘kay?”
Cody looked shocked, as though he had just been ordered to rob a bank, and the only response he could muster was a series of stutters and stalls.
Bing looked at him for a moment, fingers tapping lazily against the countertop. “Never ordered food before, huh?”
Slowly, Cody shook his head.
“Eh, it’s all good! We’ll start with the classic and go from there, maybe try another one if you’re here for breakfast.”
Without waiting for a yes or no, Bing’s eyes swirled, undoubtedly ordering from the local fast-food place that you used to celebrate breakthroughs in your code. Google thought the place was dirty, but that was just because it was frequented by humans, and the concept of eating was disgusting to him, like so many other human needs.
That was another reason why Google was suspicious of Bing; he loved that sort of thing. He seemed to thrive among people, as if you’d built him to be something other than an android, as if you’d built him to be human. He was painfully emotional and sickeningly in tune with humans. Bing had said that he was good with people, and he hadn’t lied.
However, he took solace in the fact that it didn’t help you all the time. Google could do chores, begrudgingly, but he could do them, and that gave you more time to work on your projects. What did childcare do for you? What did people skills do for you? Except for the odd occasion like this, Bing was useless to you.
Why couldn’t you see that?
“Um, what’s your name?”
When he’d finished his task, Bing’s attention shifted to Cody, who held the particular, unhindered look that only children could.
He answered happily, and then, after a moment, the boy spoke again with much less hesitation.
“Why are you two named after brands? And why do you look the same, and why are you so tall?”
“Let’s pump the brakes with the questions, kid. One at a time.” Bing leaned forward conspiratorially. “But I’ll answer ‘em all in one go, how ‘bout that?”
As soon as Cody nodded, he smiled and said simply, “We’re robots.”
“Bing,” came Google’s admonishment.
“Fine, we’re androids.”
“Bing.”
“He’s a kid, he’s not gonna tell anyone we’re here.”
Outwardly, Google was as blank as he always was, but internally, he was fighting the urge to dismantle Bing’s voice box. The child itself wasn’t the problem; it was the child’s mouth that could tell its parents that could then tell the authorities. It was like he was trying to get them removed from you, all for the sake of entertaining the thing sitting in front of him.
A dismal thought struck him – had you designed Bing to be an entertainment android?
Doubts immediately rose in him as he watched the man, who was normally cheerful to the point of being intolerable, dip his sunglasses and stare at Cody.
“Are you gonna tell anyone?”
Sufficiently cowed, the child shook his lowered head.
“We’re all cool then.”
Mere seconds after, while Bing’s bout of rare intimidation leaked out of the room, you slipped back into the room with a bottle in hand. Abigail was lifted from Google’s arms so that you could feed her from a less uncomfortable position, and, although he wouldn’t say he was happy, he was on a duller knife’s edge when he wasn’t worrying about squeezing it to death.
“Thank you, Google,” you said once the baby was settled against your chest.
He nodded. He hadn’t exactly been given a choice but was pleased by your gratitude, nonetheless.
Bing resituated his glasses and flashed his usual lopsided grin, saying, “Dinner’s sorted, babe.”
“Thanks, Bing,” you replied in an almost teasing voice. How you put up with his attention-seeking, Google had no clue. How you put up with him in general was also a question that had no logical answer.
Focus shifting to Cody, however, you asked, “Do you want to start your homework now or after eating?”
And so the precedent was set for the next twenty minutes or so. With the child going through math problems on the counter, you and Bing chatting over miscellaneous topics, and Abigail slowly emptying a bottle of milk, Google felt off. Strange. Not wrong, but then that felt wrong, instead, and he found himself with no way to rid himself of this feeling. It was though he knew something theoretically, but not in practice.
Domesticity. That was it. This kind of thing was what he had been programmed for. Daily life, and all the little details that came with it. It was largely unsubstantial, and, in fact, nothing important did happen in that grace period. It just happened. Was this how it was supposed to be?
He hated it.
You caught your laughter with a hand, the corners of your eyes scrunching up as the only hint of your amusement.
No, he hated that he didn’t hate it.
He didn’t even mind it as much when you handed Abigail back to him so that you could answer the knock at the door. There remained the background distaste of the wiggling thing in his arms, and he didn’t think it would ever disappear, but he wasn’t going to put it down until you returned.
“Are you dating our neighbor?”
In a flash, both his own and Bing’s attentions diverged; Google’s sprang to the hallway, which you couldn’t have been more than a few feet down, while Bing sent a questioning but unconcerned look at Cody.
“What makes you think that, kid?”
“You called them ‘babe’.”
A rhythmic tapping danced along the countertop where Bing’s metal pads collided with granite, humming joining in as if the thought generated song in his CPU.
The pitter-patter, rain on a rusted roof, slowed as he nodded towards the other android. “Why do you think he’s dating them?”
For the first time since they were introduced, Cody looked at Google. Curiosity tended to make humans brave, no matter their size or their vulnerability to blunt force damage. “Didn’t you leave or something for a couple months?”
Google nodded. Anything more specific than that was unnecessary.
“Mom says people only come back for people they love. That’s why she and Dad didn’t get divorced after—”
“And that’s enough of that.” Bing pushed Cody’s neck so that he faced down at his sheet of paper. “Ya got homework to do.”
“Actually, you’ve got pizza to eat,” you announced as you walked back into the kitchen with two boxes in your hands.
Only Bing knew what he had ordered, so it was a surprise for everyone else when you opened them both on the countertop. Google himself didn’t care and simply observed while you divvied up the slices onto plates for Cody, yourself, and, worryingly, Bing.
You already looked tired from the unavoidable maintenance you were going to have to do on his chest cavity.
That left just Google and Abigail without wedges of bread and cheese in their mouths, neither complaining for their respective, obvious reasons. Time passed, and the domesticity strengthened. You chuckled at one of Bing’s poor jokes and asked Google’s opinion on your Roomba when it bumped into his heel again. He answered, you laughed again, and he tried his hardest to be annoyed. He didn’t manage it.
And when Abigail started to nod off in his arms, bright blue eyes shutting, you scooped her up and smiled at him. Another thank-you, silent but just as genuine.
Emotions weren’t his strong suit, he didn’t know why his shoulders dropped, he couldn’t explain why his circuits buzzed, he didn’t understand why he wasn’t rejecting all of this.
“I’ll put her to bed,” you said – why did you keep leaving? “I rigged up a cot in the bathtub, so I’ll be there quick if she wakes up crying. It shouldn’t interrupt your beauty sleep.”
From where Bing sat next to Cody, there came a snort. “That’s dumb.”
“I’m sorry, did you buy and assemble a whole damn crib while I was out?”
“No,” Bing said, copying your tone, “we’ll take care of her.”
You paused. Doubt and some amount of suspicion layered itself on your face.
“Really?”
“Give us, like, an hour to charge and we’ll be good to go.”
“She’s a baby, Bing, I’m not subjecting you to that all night.” With that, you started for the hallway, fully intending to go through with your ludicrous plan.
As stupid as Bing was sometimes, your need to demonstrate your independence was one of your worst flaws. You had very literally built two men to help with chores, and yet, based on the morning’s incident, they were going underutilized far too often.
Hopping off the barstool, Bing explained, “We’ll take shifts, won’t we, Google?”
A little deliberation would have been appreciated beforehand, but he wasn’t about to disagree.
Bluntly, he said, “Yes.”
You turned your gaze on him, that same suspicion now tainted by hesitation swirling in your eyes. “Really?”
“Yes.”
“But are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“But are you really sure?”
“Babe!” Bing huffed. He’d crept closer in the back-and-forth, surprisingly quiet for someone so clunky, and was now laying a hand on your shoulder. “We got this, just trust us, would’ya?”
Your hands twitched beneath the baby, the only thing stopping you from digging the heels of your palms into your eyes. Instead, you held her tighter to your chest while your attention flipped from Google to Bing, back and forth, and then back and forth again. Neither of them blamed you, but they weren’t going to give up on this.
Something must have hit you after a few seconds; your grip relaxed, your body relaxed, you relaxed.
“You two are amazing.”
According to every piece of information on the internet, media and personal experience alike, a baby’s cries were one of the worst sounds, and that was before you added in the two AM timing and ensuing sleep deprivation. Unlike you, however, both androids had the ability to completely shut it out if need be. Turning off their ‘ears’ was a skill you had often protested, including before Google was able to verbally respond to your groans, but this time, it was going to help you.
“I mean,” Bing said, breaking the moment as he normally did, “I know I am, but both of us?”
You rolled your eyes – a reaction that Google thought you didn’t have enough – but left without complaint, taking Abigail with you to the upstairs bathroom.
Spending the night in a confined space with a baby was not something Google was looking forward to, but it wasn’t that different from his station in the lab. You were even closer in this case, so it wasn’t completely bad.
“Yeah, you’re totally dating.”
Google’s attention turned to Cody, whose eyes immediately blew wide,
“Homework. Now.”
The kid ducked his head to stare at the counter as if the android were a bull to enrage just by looking at him. In some small part, he was, but the feeling melted just as quickly as it had appeared, even as Bing giggled uproariously in the background.
Cody was at just at the edge of the age range for bedtime stories, and whether it was his own loyalty to princes and dragons or his parents’ inability to let go of their baby boy, he had you sitting on a chair that you’d pulled up to his bedside with a book in hand. You weren’t amazing at improvising tales of daring-do, so you pulled out the kids’ book you had bought for nostalgic reasons a few years back. It was written well enough to keep you in the loop, but the plot was mainly supported by reliving your emotions as you reread names and places you hadn’t seen since your own childhood.
You were, of course, being watched – or supervised, depending on who you were asking – by your androids. They were waiting at the doorway, Bing leaning against the hinges while Google stood stock still a few steps from him. The room wasn’t big by any means, but they were far enough away that hushed words could be hidden beneath your recital.
“Are you meant to help with kids?” Bing asked, not taking his eyes off you.
The reply was a short, “Yes.”
“Huh.” His attention flickered momentarily to Google, where he saw a slow blink that passed for a silent ‘so?’. He shrugged as he faced forward again. “Just didn’t think you were up for stuff like that.”
“It is in my programming, just the same as cooking and cleaning are.”
Bing opened his mouth to respond but shut it the next second. Then, slowly, uncertainly, almost fearfully, he asked, “D’ya think our code is actually busted?”
“What do you mean?”
“We can’t cook, dude.”
“You cannot cook.”
“No, we can’t cook.” This wasn’t a matter of bringing him down to the same level or their tit-for-tat spitting matches. Bing barely managed to get his voice to a lower tone before he was asking, “D’ya think it can be fixed?”
He refused to say it out loud – because that would mean he put some stock into the idea – but Google realized what he was hinting at well enough. If the bug was repairable, they were more likely to be returned to the companies that had commissioned them. They would be leaving you, likely for the last time, so they could be shipped off to the highest bidder. Just the thought of that happening, and so soon, stirred disgust in both of them. If Bing hadn’t seen the good in humanity himself, the camaraderie of skateboarding, the excitement of learning new things, he might well have been the same as Google, whose hand wrapped around the opposite arm with enough force to crush something valuable.
Neither of them wanted to abandon you.
But Google was anything but a liar, and sugar-coating things wasn’t in his programming.
“Yes. It can be fixed.”
He didn’t need to, but Bing released a breath.
“Cool.”
He sounded deflated, as though someone had pulled the plug on his emotional core.
Google had seen enough to know that was his most useful quality – mostly because everything else was absolutely pointless – so he continued on. “There is a 6.2 percent chance that more issues will arise in our code as a result of the required update, and a 48 percent chance that company engineers will be unable to resolve them.”
Bing’s focus finally pinned itself on Google.
“You sayin’ what I think you’re sayin’?”
“What do you think I am saying?”
“I mean—” And there appeared the conspiratorial expression of a man who always harbored a shrewd side but hid it well, because that was just the man Bing was, “—if the dweebs at our places can’t figure out how to fix us, who’s to say they’d figure out what’s a real bug?”
They cast one last look towards you before Bing pulled the door closed. Side by side, they started to make their way to the lab.
“You are immature and objectively unnecessary, and I do not understand why you were built in the first place.”
Google’s words were nothing Bing wasn’t used to, even only a day after having met him, so he said, “Feelin’s mutual, bro.”
“You also make the human happy, and though it is against all reason, they want you around.”
“Feelin’s mutual.” This one was happier than before, sly and accompanied by a smirk that Bing sent to Google just as he followed him down to the front room. Once they were at the bottom, though, he gave in to the moment’s air of understanding with a roll of his eyes. “And they want you around, too.”
“We are in agreement then.”
“Yeah. I got your back against those company dudes, ‘n you got mine.”
The basement door provided a nice backdrop for the end of the conversation; a white sheen of frosted glass, which, had Google gone through as he’d planned, would have prevented them from seeing eye-to-eye. They might have continued their aggression towards one another for days, weeks, months – you might have been forced to take drastic measures – it might have ended badly for all three of you.
But this was better.
“I will not hesitate to decommission you at the first instance of it benefiting me, and in the inevitability that the human is no longer entertained by you, I will take great pleasure in recycling your parts.”
No less aggressive, but it would be kept securely in the undertones of speech and action. Around you, at least, because the damage they did while you were away was between Google, Bing, and the toolbox you kept around for emergencies.
“And here I thought we’d never agree on anything.”
The children’s parents had picked them up early in the morning, which left the three of you alone again, now migrated to the lab, which was quiet for the first time since you’d given Bing the ability to speak. It was unusual, but not bad. You were half sure the only reason he was taking so long to complete was that he never gave you a minute of peace while you were working. Now, though, you were typing away at your laptop, lines of code appearing in the blink of an eye and getting closer with every second to a completed update.
The problem, luckily, wasn’t that big of a deal; all the particles, smoke, flour, and spice tended to interfere with the connections between the androids’ hands and their CPUs. You figured rerouting the transfer of information to a wire closer to the core of their skeletons would protect that from happening more, so all you needed to do was retype the paths and maybe order some protective padding while you were at it.
So why had it taken you the entire day and then some?
You’d spent a combined three out of the five hours either poorly fighting back tears, absolutely bawling your eyes out, or staring blankly at the charging station. All was done in private, of course, because you didn’t think you could have handled talking to one of your boys during those moments of misery. It was hard enough to look at them now, so you kept your attention fixed firmly on the screen.
That didn’t mean you weren’t aware of them. No, you knew damn well that they were staring at you as you pieced together the final line of code. Bing was closest, leaning against your desk, while Google sat on his usual stool.
Your finger hovered over the last square bracket for a second before you bit the bullet and pressed it down.
“Right!” you sighed. “All that’s left to do is upload it and test it out. So, who wants to go first?”
It appeared as though Bing was eager for a repair job. A smile grew on his face, and he pushed off the surface. The few steps that he took towards you were almost a strut, and – even though he looked happy, and you were glad to be done with it, and you were sure Google would be, too, because he liked to be functionable, and wasn’t that what you wanted for both of them – your heart sank. This was just another obstacle you’d gotten over on their way back to their respective companies. Away from you.
But then you looked closer, and Bing’s smile was a smirk more than anything, and you could see a flash of amber light from behind his sunglasses, and he stopped right at your side.
You made a questioning noise as he pushed down your laptop screen, not taking his eyes off of you. It was an awful familiar movement, and you sent a glance at Google, like he had any chance of telling you what was going on with the other android.
“Maybe you should take a break,” Bing said. The dull click of the laptop being shut seemed to echo in the lab.
“It’s going to take a while,” you said, “I’ll be taking a break while it goes through your system.”
“I was thinkin’ we could all take a break together.”
“Because watching me type on a keyboard is so tiring—wait, we?”
The problem with this sudden friendliness wasn’t that it was happening, but that it was happening too soon. Of course, they had only known each other for two days, but Google had seemed to decide within ten minutes of meeting Bing that he hated him. You didn’t expect them to get over it so quickly, especially when Google was notorious for holding grudges, and you were still 99 percent sure he had done something before the kids had arrived.
You were about to voice a few of your questions, but Google spoke from over your shoulder, “We have found common ground.”
“Okay.” You were suddenly hyper-aware of the distance between you and the androids, or lack thereof. “Did Abigail’s crying fry your circuits or something?”
“Nah, pretty sure we’ve both been thinkin’ it for a while, just haven’t talked it out, ‘til now.”
You didn’t think they had known each other long enough to constitute ‘a while’ – and you were right, but a potential friendship between them wasn’t what he was talking about. There was still a degree of animosity, but the agreement they had stopped this from going further from the look they cast each other over your head.
As they silently fought out their next move, you said, “I genuinely can’t think of what you two would agree on.”
It only took a few seconds for a decision to be made. You remained lost, focus flickering between Google and Bing, and waiting for one of them to explain. Your bet had been on the more knowledge-driven of the two, until Bing placed a knee on your chair in the space between your legs so that he could lean closer in.
“I’ll just show ya.”
The confusion that had been your main emotion for the last couple of minutes steadily faded out in favor of wonder. You hadn’t built Bing, or Google, for that matter, with lip-to-lip contact in mind, so kissing an android was a new and marvelous sensation. You were quickly overcome with the want to explore, to learn, to figure out how this worked. His lips were slightly warmer than the rest of his body as a means of expelling heat from the CPU, and malleable so that they could form shapes that any human could. But then they were also smooth, so different from the bumps and ridges and chewed spots of your own, and you fought the urge to pull away so that you could run your finger over them.
You noticed the whirring of fans picking up in Bing’s chest, and that brief realization had you recontextualizing the times you thought something was just wrong with the cooling system – before you were struck by lightheadedness that forced you to disconnect and sit back in your chair.
Bing looked smug, which was both warranted and infuriating.
Still, you didn’t stop yourself from heaving a breath, followed by a quiet, “Damn.”
He laughed and placed one hand on each of the chair’s arms, almost caging you in, as if that were something he needed to worry about when you were trying to catch your breath.
“Yeah, I have that effect on people.”
“Who else have you kissed?”
Your chair was turned to the side, prompting Bing to reshuffle to only be holding the back of the chair, and you came face to face with Google. Unsurprisingly, he looked the same as he always did. He watched you for a moment, eyes scanning your face, completely nonplussed – but when he stopped, his eyes blurred into a familiar iciness.
The bastard had taken a photo and then had the gall to keep talking as though nothing had happened.
“What he means to say—”
“You’ve got no clue what I mean.”
“—Is that we care about you.” He barely spared a second to glare at Bing before he returned his attention to you. “We are not programmed to, but we do. What we are programmed to do is help you. If we can do this better together than apart, we will. It may take some time to learn to be around one another, but you benefit from both of us.”
You tried to interrupt, to say that it didn’t matter what you liked the most because your feelings about all of this weren’t accounted for in the end goal, but he continued on.
“You know you do. I know you do.”
Bing piped up from next to you, “You ain’t exactly good at hidin’ your emotions like Mr. Freeze here.”
“Shut up, I can’t confess to them if you keep making comments,” Google complained in a rare moment of cracked composure. Even Bing dropped his sunglasses to stare at him, just as shocked as you were. It was only you who smiled, raised a hand, and, upon getting a nod, used it to cradle his own.
“I got it, Google. I do care about you. But I don’t know what I’m going to do when the retrieval staff come back.”
“We can fix that.”
“You can’t kill them.”
“That was not what we decided to do.” He didn’t mention that he had considered it, nor that the chance was calculated, nor that all their family members’ information was stored in a file as contingency.
But you didn’t press him for those details. Instead, your eyebrows furrowed, and you moved to press your hand into your eye, but Bing snatched it before you got it there.
“Just trust us, yeah?” He spoke with such a casual tone that you felt you had no choice but to believe him. “It’ll all turn out okay.”
It would all turn out okay.
It would all turn out okay.
You had a week until your verbal contract with Google’s retrieval staff ran out, and you didn’t even want to check how long until Microsoft sent out for Bing. If they were taken, if they left, if you were alone for one of the first times in a year, you didn’t know what you would do.
But those were ifs, and the way that your boys were talking, they were some huge ifs. And if they had anything to say about it, and you knew they did, they weren’t going to go without a fight. Neither were you, for all that you were capable of.
Yeah. It would all turn out okay.
[Thank you so much for requesting and for the delightful words <3 I had so much more that I wanted to do with this (it originally started with Reader getting arrested for breach of contract, but I had to cut it because it got so long) but this will do, I think. I hope you've enjoyed, and thank you for reading :D
also the name of this fic is 'trash compactor' so interpret that however you want]
Can you do any x reader headcanons for the neighbors or Bing and Larry? (You don’t have to do both ofc! ^^) Hope you have a good day!
OMSDGUYGS YES HOLY SHIT I LOVE THE SILLIES!!!
⇆ㅤ ||◁ㅤ❚❚ㅤ▷||ㅤ ↻
Eduardo
You thought highschool was bad enough? Now long out of it you have to deal with this guy - basically a sterotypical highschool bully, as an adult.
Despite his rude attituide, he really does love you
Loves making fun of Edd with you, or ranting about a good insult he had thrown at him.
If you didn't know how to cook (like as in you would die without takeout kind of don't know how to cook) he would teach you how to make simple dishes
Protective as HELL.
Like, if he sees someone bothering you he's glaring at them, and if they don't get the hint he's yelling at them to leave you alone
Would get jealous pretty easily
Oddly loving at some times
— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —
Mark
Like Eduardo can be compared to a Disney bully, but it more laid back than Eduardo
LOVES cooking for you
When he gets jealous it's pretty hard to tell, but he will try and one-up whoever he's jealous about.
"You're.. talking to them? Why look at them? There is no way they're worth your time. I mean, like - what is that outfit anyways..? I swear they got it from the Dollar General."
"Mark wtf"
Would brush your hair for you, stuff like that
Movie nights<3
— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —
Jon
Defiently the sweetest out of the neighbours, but I wouldn't say he's exactly the nicest guy out there
(Is super kind/nice to you obvi tho<3)
I'd see him like buying you stuff, giving little gifts
Would ADORE making fun of people behind their backs with you, pointing and jeering at them quietly, mostly in hopes of making you laugh
"Do you still love me?" questions 10x a week fr
Loves doing house chores with you
Love language would totally be quality time (canon I'm the rocket that killed him)
— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —
Bing
Runs up to you happily and shows you his latest invention
Loves creating evil schemes with you<3
Devious asf
If you don't like a certain weather bro will 100% make an invention to fucking change it
"Awh, it's [weather].."
"Give me two seconds."
Would love going on walks with you
Forces you to watch him make things (unless you really hate it then he'll leave you alone)
— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —
Larry
Most senseable out of.. EVERYONE.
Takes care of you when you're sick, feeling upset
Almost fatherly sometimes
Romantic dinners>>>>>>>>>>>
He looks like he'd write poetry.
Done with everyone's shit
Like Jon would totally make fun of people behind their backs with you
COOKS FOR YOU FR
Note: I wrote this with chase in mind but I realized at the end that it can be read as any of the septic egos so enjoy i guess
Also this is unedited cause I don't edit things ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"What the hell you doing down there?"
Well there's worst ways to wake up, you buried yourself in to the duvet before reluctantly opening your eyes to look at the confused face of your boyfriend
Shuffling around to lay on your back while still staying snug in the dovet "yes?"
"Why are you sleeping this way?"
The way he is referring to is at the foot of the bed, to be more specific your turned around so your head is at the foot
"It got hot up there so I moved" you replied, closing your eyes hopeful to get back to sleep before you have to get up for the day
"but thats the foot of the bed" gesturing to his own feet that sit a little ways away from your face "Says who?, who in the world decided that there was a foot side and a head side?" You replied in a tired spiel, he snorts a bit at this
"Well the headbord is over here for one" he counters back
"Well not all beds have headbords sweetheart, it really a choice to have one or not" you move the blanket to cover your face in a dramatic fashion " well I'll give you that one but I still don't like the idea of sleeping where dirty feet lie"
You quickly remove the blanket from your face "Are you saying you don't clean your feet before going to bed?!"
"Well no bu-" you pop up to smack your pillow in his face "YOU NASTY" he grabs the pillow from you and gives you a good wrack back before putting the pillow back down
"I wear house shoes so my feet usually don't get dirty unlike someone who refuses to wear even socks at home"
"I don't like how they feel" you replie as you scrunch back up under the blanket away from the cold morning air
"I understand that's why I don't say anything" he leans down to give you a small kiss on the lips "but. . ."
"But?"
"I still don't understand why your sleeping at the end of the bed"
You let out a loud tired groan as you throw the blanket back "Then come lay over here and find out" you say as you pat the now open spot next to you " mmmm, fine" he move his pillow next to your and lays down while you throw the blanket over him, cuddle up to his chest he wraps his arm around you and puts his chin on your head
"Nice isn't it" you say, he pulls you in a little more "only cause your here" he says closing his eyes to finally go back to sleep
"Told you so" you give him a kiss and fall back asleep
hey, can I request google and bing (Seperate) with an s/o thats also an ai?
Ofc!
Google
Honestly, it only changes based on whether you're a search engine or just a bot.
He'd be a little bit annoyed at first because come on! There's already four two many, and they have him, so why more?
He warms up quickly though, don't worry. (Aka he got forced at gun point)
If you were another search engine, he might judge you slightly depending on which you are
He would never admit it, but he'd constantly try to try and impress you with his skill's (which...doesn't really work because it's most likely you can do them too) but often comes off more as him boasting about being a superior model
And by that I mean he'd go off on a spiel of how his functions allow him to be a superior and more effective protector/partner of you
Yeah idk man he's trying
He wouldn't really mind, honestly! He'd be slightly more in tune with a partner that's also ai, since you can relate more to him
Watch out though, he would constantly try to hack into your system (though for what, you're not sure) or change your objectives.
Would try to flirt with you but it ends up in the most monotone voice you have ever heard because he's just like that tbh
Since he's more used to tending to humans he'd give you random stuff like a sandwich or something until you remind him you can't really eat
Bing
Unlike Google, he wouldn't act that much different whether or not you're a search engine or not.
If you're not the most exactly....uh...up to date, model, he'd totally sympathize with that!
He can't do much based on his safety features (and constant porn ads but please never mention them his ego is being crushed enough) and gets teased for it (read: harassed) by Google, so he'd try and protect you from that.
If Google were to harass you, all you would hear is a loud, high pitched ringing sound for about four minutes before you quickly realize it's Bing trying to cuss him out
He would definitely try and show you some cool tricks on his skateboard, but probably ends up losing an arm or something because he got distracted 🙄
He gives you pretty rocks or things he finds :)
Never let him try to patch you up though. Or even near your wires. Trust me, its not fun for anyone involved.
Flexes you CONSTANTLY, has no chill whatsoever. Especially if you have a higher operating system than him!
If you don't though, he'd just claim that 'it's in' nowadays. Is secretly pleased tho
I cut my fingy and panicked a lot so here’s a quick not-at-all thought out thing about how some egos would react to s/o cutting their finger while cooking and it like isn’t that bad but they’re freaking out
1.4k words
Enjoy!
Markiplier egos with an s/o who accidentally cut themselves hcs
Darkiplier
He was in his study, just thinking, while you made dinner
He heard a tiny “ow” and didn’t think much of it
He then heard a louder “OW” and a string of “fuck”s and got worried
He entered the kitchen, to see you gripping your wrist and holding your finger under the water from the sink
He thinks you burned yourself
Then you pull your hand away and he sees blood and immediately makes his way over.
“What happened? Are you ok? How bad is it?”
You don’t answer as you are too busy hyperventilating because goddammit it HURTS
He tries to take your hand to look at it but you won’t let him
You look so hurt and vulnerable and he feels so bad
If you’d asked him to help cook, and he didn’t take it, he’d feel a thousand times worse
Eventually, he gets you to sit down and calms you, just a bit, and goes to get band aids
He comes back to you looking like you’re about to have a panic attack
He quickly stands you back up, and you put your finger back under the sink.
He gently washes it with soap and apologizes every time you make a noise
He gives you the bandage and lets you sit on the couch
You calm down and lean on his shoulder
He lets you sit there for a bit, rubbing your arm.
You eventually look up at him
“I think I may have overreacted.”
He’d laugh and kiss your head and goes to finish cooking dinner
Wilford
He wasn’t even home yet
You told him you were starting dinner and he left wherever he was immediately.
He was picking up wine from the store when you called him
“Wilford please get bandaids”
He was confused and a little worried, so he asked why
“Please just buy some and hurry home please” and you hung up
Now, Wilford is hardly a reasonable man as it is. so when he ran out of the store (without paying) and sped down the road in his car to get home before you, like, died or some shit, you shouldn’t have been surprised
He may or may not have run into a pedestrian or two on the way
He threw the door open when he got home, gun in hand
“WHAT HAPPENED WHAT’S THE DANGER”
You’re sitting on a chair in the kitchen breathing heavily, holding your finger
He can’t help but laugh because, christ, he thought it was something BAD
But, to you, it was bad. and he was laughing at you.
You tear up, just a bit. you’re feeling a lot of emotions right now.
He sees and gets worried again because is it worse than he thinks?? is there another injury??? are you traumatized what’s happening?
He tries to look at the cut but you turn away, looking very upset
He tries to convince you to let him see but you won’t budge
You’re whining a little (which I do because I can’t emote properly) which makes him upset
He drops to his knees and holds out his hands
“C’mon, baby! Let me see! Let me help!”
He’s being overdramatic and stupid and it makes you smile. So you do.
He gently kisses the spot, as to not hurt you, and puts a bandaid over it, kissing that too.
He orders take out and lets you lay on his lap while he pets your hair
Yancy
He was practicing some dance moves when he heard you in the kitchen
You were cursing and breathing heavily
Logically, he should know that perhaps you hurt yourself making dinner
However Yancy is a bit of a dumbass so he thinks someone broke in or something
He walks in with a knife, only for you to stand there with your finger under the sink.
He sees the blood, so concludes that you cut yourself. But you look really upset?
He’s mostly confused.
He’s been through worse, you’ve been through worse, he KNOWS you have
So why are you so upset?
“Why are you so upset?” “I don’t know!” “It’s not that bad” “I know...” “What’s the problem?” “I don’t KNOW!”
You start to cry, just a bit, and Yancy panics
He doesn’t know what to do. He’s not used to this!
He wants to tell you to get over it, but also he doesn’t?
Like, he knows it’s the easiest thing to say, but also not the BEST thing to say
So he says nothing. He gets a band aid, puts it on your finger, and hugs you.
He holds you for a minutes until your breathing is normal
If you tell him you don’t wanna cook today, he orders pizza
If you tell him you can, he’ll try to help
You have to kick him out because the man doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing
Illinois
He’s watching you cook and sees it happen before it does
Your finger isn’t in the right place, he saw you adjust
He tries to warn you but doesn’t do it in time
He winces because ouch
He processes what happened before you do, so he already has the band aids.
He turns the sink on, moves your finger underneath, and cleans it with soap
He puts the band aid on you and kisses your hand
He asks if you want to keep cooking or if you want him to cook
If you want to, he’ll help you with whatever you were doing first that made you cut yourself
If you don’t want to, he’ll finish what you were doing on his own.
He makes sure you’ve calmed down and holds your hand, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles
“Im being overdramatic...”
“No, you’re not. It hurt. You bled. You got upset. You’re ok now.”
He’s a very understanding and responsible man ^///^
Magnum
None of that goddamn crew can cook for shit, so you always have to
Mostly fish and vegetables you buy at different ports
Magnum and the others are just drinking and laughing when they hear you yell and curse from the kitchen
Magnum goes over to see what’s happening
He sees you holding your finger and goes to hold you
He’s very. protective, I’m gonna say.
“Oh, poor darlin’... are ye alright? Are ye ok? Awh, sweetheart...”
He doesn’t have bandaids, so he cleans a cloth and covers your finger
He makes you rest in your room (even though it wasn’t particularly that bad)
The other crewmates check in periodically to see if you’re ok
Magnum decides he’s going to cook
Yes, the ship catches on fire. No, he will not say how he did it
You have to finish dinner, otherwise the others are gonna kill themselves trying
Google
He’s recharging on the couch while you cook
He hears you curse from the kitchen and concludes you’ve hurt yourself
He doesn’t really see one injury as too much worse than another. they’re all bad
He knows what happens if even the smallest wound gets infected
He wants it dealt with quickly and efficiently
He walks up to you and grabs your hand, pulling it under the sink
He cleans it with soap, puts a band aid on it, and leaves
Dr. Iplier who, bitch?
He likes to sit when you while you eat, just so he can talk to you
You, however, don’t talk to him at all and he’s a little upset
He figures he was a bit too rough with you at first when he reaches for you after you stand up and you pull away
“I apologize for my methods, I wanted to make sure the wound was dealt with posthaste.”
“Well... I guess that’s a good enough excuse.”
You hug him, and he (hesitantly) hugs back
Bing
Probably the reason you cut yourself lmao
He enjoys bothering you when you’re busy
He hasn’t recieved his Designated Bing Attention Hours today and therefore you have to deal with a very clingy and annoying Bing
He’d be less annoying if he’d stop fucking TOUCHING THINGS but w/e
He bumps into you and you yell
He doesn’t realize that you cut yourself until you start cursing
He turns around to see you frantically turning the water on and gets very nervous
Shit, that was his fault? He did that? Fuck, you’re angry, aren’t you. FUCK
He leaves, immediately, and you have to deal with it yourself.
He paces in your room for a bit, debating what to do
“Ok. Alright. What do people like. Phones? I could buy a phone. I could STEAL a phone. I could steal anything they want! Do people need graphics cards?”
He settles for walking back into the kitchen, apologizing, and walking back out
“nailed it”
You’re a little quiet the rest of the day, and he’s still nervous, but you hug him and kiss his cheek before you get ready to go to bed, so it’s ok
